


got to be (something bigger than me)

by CyberQueens



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M, Minor Character Death, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 19:04:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6389437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CyberQueens/pseuds/CyberQueens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A thousand and a half years (or thereabouts) after Camlann, Gwen finds two strange men at her door.<br/>Written for <a href="http://roundtablemanagers.tumblr.com">roundtablemanagers</a>' Round Table Minutes March 2016 prompt 'Once and Futures'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There were two strange men at her door.

One, she knew, from a passing glance here and there. Tall and old, but with a back so straight, Gwen always wondered how one who had enough years in him to have grown a beard so long managed it. She’d seen him in the neighborhood, entering the building two numbers down from hers; when she’d offered to carry his bags, he’d touched a finger to his nose and said, _‘I can do more than you think.’_

The other was younger – much, much younger. Tall, too, and blonde, with blue eyes and a beautiful, handsome face. Also, he was dressed in armor.

He stared at her with such a dazed look, such intensity, that she thought he must have mistaken her for someone else. But he broke into a grin, slow and wide, and said, “Guinevere.”

That wasn’t her name.

And she’d never met the man in her life.

So, all she could say in return was, “Who are you?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

That was three hours ago.

Since, she’d been told they were Merlin and Arthur – one, a sorcerer, the other, king of Camelot, risen again from Avalon. She’d asked if they were cosplayers.

Still, when the old man – when _Merlin_ assured her they were telling the truth, she could almost believe it. When he said they’d known her as Guinevere over a thousand years ago, she nearly believed that, too. When Merlin turned on all of her appliances with only three muttered words and the ruckus made Arthur jump and draw an actual, golden sword, she believed it a little more.

So now, she stood to the side with Merlin, while Arthur spun in the middle of the living room, eyes full of curiosity for everything yet with comprehension for none. Such a man out of place. And time, evidently.

“A thousand and a half years I wait for him to return,” Merlin spoke. “I honestly don’t know what I expected.”

“A thousand years,” Gwen echoed. “That’s a long time.”

“Eh.” Merlin shrugged. “After the first few centuries, it all starts going by faster.”

“So…you’ve been…”

“On earth this entire time? Oh, yeah. I’m immortal.”

She frowned, biting into her lip.

Merlin turned knowing eyes on her. “Sounds mad,” he said, “but you believe it, don’t you?”

_Yes,_ she thought. And not only because she had seen him do – magic. But because for all that she had lived and learned, she had still always felt like she’d somehow come into this world fully formed; with thoughts and ideas that were always somehow there, and so different from her parents, so unlike anything two farmers’ daughter ought to be.

So maybe…

Still, it was completely mad.

“So, you’re immortal,” she said instead of answering, “he” – she nodded to Arthur, who was inspecting her old Roman law textbook like it was demonic – “was somehow preserved this way for fifteen hundred years – ”

“Sidhe magic. Powerful thing.”

“Right. And now he’s woken up – ”

“Risen.”

“And only knows about things up until – what, the sixth century – ”

“The time of Camelot.”

“And he’s walking around with a sword – ” When Merlin began to open his mouth, she warned, “Don’t say Excalibur.”

He pressed his lips together. Then smiled. “I’ll tell you a secret about it,” he said, leaning in like a conspirator. “ _He_ doesn’t even know.”

She raised her eyebrows expectantly.

“Your father made it.”

“My father’s a milkman.”

“Not that father,” Merlin said, almost dismissively. “The one you had in Camelot. Tom. Tom the blacksmith.”

“That’s – I don’t know that name.”

“I thought not,” Merlin agreed after a moment, perhaps with a twinge of disappointment.

Was he saying all these things, speaking all these names, just to – “Are you trying to get me to…remember something?”

“Still clever, then,” he muttered, then sighed. “Yeah,” he admitted, “but I suppose…if you didn’t know me when you saw me – if you didn’t remember _Arthur_ at seeing him, what hope is there for anything else?”

She turned to the man in question – who was, currently, desperately trying to hide the fact that he had broken one of her pens.

_Appalling guest,_ she thought, with fondness, even, and had no idea where it had come from.

“You’re immortal, he’s…risen,” she reiterated, “so what does that make me?”

Merlin scratched his head. “Reincarnated?”

She turned back to him. “You don’t know?”

“Well, excuse me if I don’t know everything,” he complained and for the first time, he truly painted the perfect picture of a grumpy, doddery old man; Gwen nearly laughed.

“This is all…new to me, too,” he went on. “I waited and waited, and didn’t know what I was really waiting for.” He chuckled. “Couldn’t believe it, first time I saw you here either. Thought I was seeing things.”

Gwen narrowed her eyes. “How did you recognize…me?”

Merlin raised an eyebrow. “Haven’t changed a bit, my lady.”

A strange jolt went through her. “Really?”

“Well, your hair’s just a _tad_ shorter” – he tilted his head – “I like it.” Then, he shrugged. “Other than that, you’re exactly the same.”

That was – “You say you’ve been here all this time,” she said, slowly. “There’s legends about this. About…king Arthur and Camelot – about _you._ ”

“And you,” Merlin returned.

“Right. And in none of them is Guinevere anything other than a _white_ girl.”

For a moment, Merlin looked guilty; then, he just sighed. “History has a way of getting everything wrong. No story told is the one that really happened. But,” he added, “what I’m telling you is the truth. You _were_ queen of Camelot.”

_That’s not right._ The thought, again, came unbidden. _That title’s not right._

She shook her head. “Well, then that would make me Arthur’s…”

“Wife, yeah,” Merlin said, like it was a normal thing to tell a girl. He threw a glance at Arthur. “Honestly, Gwen, from the moment he got his wits about him, all he’s talked about is seeing you.”

She swallowed.

Slowly, she looked over to him. He was playing around with the stapler, like it was both the most wondrous and horrifying thing he’d ever seen. Despite herself, she smiled.

She thought, maybe, if she stared long enough, something would come to her, some memory of ever agreeing to marry this man, of ever actually doing so, but nothing did. Still, even without any of that, he seemed endearing just as he was.

She led the way back to him.

He quickly dropped the stapler and stood straight, chest out, a hand coming to rest on his sword. Gwen had the oddest thought that she ought to put him in a museum. He certainly belonged there more than he did in her home.

“Do you remember me yet?” he asked.

“No.” She shook her head, and his face fell. “I’m sorry,” she felt compelled to add.

He schooled his features. “That’s alright,” he assured, then slipped some kind of meaningful glance towards Merlin.

“Oh, don’t look at me,” Merlin grumbled. “I’ve no idea why she doesn’t remember you.”

In return, Arthur gave him a look that could probably kill.

It softened when it returned to her, though; she held his gaze, for the longest time. Never would she think to share it with a stranger for so long, but this one, she could hold forever. Such pretty eyes.

“We need to get him clothes,” Merlin was the first to speak. “Can’t have him walking around in armor and a knight’s cloak forever. Cosplay only gets you so far.”

From the corner of her eye, Gwen saw Arthur mouth, _‘what’s cosplay?’_

“We need to take him shopping,” Merlin declared.

“ _We?_ ” Gwen parroted in a high pitch, then felt bad when Arthur’s face fell again. In the moment, it dawned on her how terrible this must be for him; to wake up in a completely different world, changed beyond recognition, with only one friend to give him answers and a wife who didn’t remember him.

The strangest urge came over her, to go to him and let him lay his head in the crook of her neck.

She cleared her throat. “Well, he can’t go to any store dressed like this,” she said. “Um – Merlin could go out and buy you something.” She turned to Arthur. “There’s a shop right nearby, it’ll only take a few minutes.”

Arthur’s eyes widened. “How quickly do seamstresses work in this time?” he asked in wonder.

She blinked at him. Merlin ran a hand over his face. “There’s no seamstresses, Arthur, the clothes are already made,” he said.

Arthur was still uncomprehending. “But how do they know my measurements?”

Merlin looked like he was regretting all of his centuries worth of life and choices as he grumbled, “I’ll just go with large.”

With that, he was heading for the door, abnormally quick for a man his age, muttering something about things never changing and damned clotpoles all the while.

And then there were two.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Gwen didn’t think she’d ever felt more awkward in her life.

Just standing there, three feet across a legendary dead king who was her husband from another life she didn’t remember, neither of them saying a word in the silence Merlin left behind.

“Would you like something?” she fired out, too suddenly; Arthur jumped a little. “Um, water, tea? Coffee?”

“Uh, I – yes, of course, thank you,” Arthur said, then cocked his head. “What’s coffee?”

“Why don’t I make you some,” she suggested, “and then you can decide if you like it?”

When he nodded, she fled across the room, and slipped behind the divider into her kitchen. It was still not a long distance away to flee to, in a flat this small. Once she set the water to boil, she turned to look at him over her shoulder, through the arch that gave into the living room.

He was right where she’d left him, standing by her desk, taking up the entire room with his presence. He was too big for her home.

She worked in silence, while he seemingly busied himself with examining her highlighters, until it was time to ask, “Sugar? Milk?”

He looked nonplussed. “Yes?”

With a smile, she added some of both, then took the mug to him. He accepted it with a nod and a ‘thank you’; she was careful not to let their fingers brush.

He inspected the mug, eyes wide, gave it a whiff, then took a sip; he froze for a second, before his face went carefully blank. He swallowed. “It’s good.”

She bit back a smile. “Are you trying not to offend me?”

He pressed his lips together. “Perhaps.”

She laughed. “It’s fine, coffee’s an acquired taste,” she said, holding her hands out to take the mug back and set it on the desk. When she looked up, Arthur was staring at her with such fondness, such love, that goosebumps broke out along her arms. She had to take a step back.

Arthur did the same. “I’m sorry,” he spoke, a little stiffly, like he was making a formal apology. “I don’t mean to overwhelm you, Guinevere.”

“That’s not my name,” she found herself saying.

He met her eyes, seemingly searching for something there; he found nothing. “Maybe not now,” he conceded. “Some called you Gwen back in Camelot too, though.” He smiled fondly. “Forgive me if I call you by a name you don’t remember, but I…” He took a deep breath. “To me, the battle was only two days ago, and…to me, you are still Guinevere.”

_Only two days_. “So was it really like in the legends for you?” she asked with curiosity. “You were in this…dreamless sleep in Avalon? And you just woke up like no time had passed at all?”

“I think so,” he said, uncertainly. “It’s sort of…muddled. I remember dying.” He pursed his lips. “That’s a strange thing to say.”

“Honestly, once you’ve heard you’re the reincarnation of queen Guinevere, nothing really seems strange in comparison anymore.”

He laughed at that one. “I imagine not,” he agreed. “So, I died,” he reiterated. “Merlin was with me. Next thing I know, he’s with me again, except he looks like the man who killed my father.”

“ _What?_ ”

Arthur shook his head. “Long story.” He sighed. “Turns out it wasn’t him, in the end. But the point is, I suppose…these legends you speak of are right. I feel like no time has passed at all. And yet…” He looked around the room. “Nothing in the world is the same.”

She felt that pang of sympathy again. “I’m sorry,” she said. “This must be terrible for you. To just wake up, and suddenly everything is different.”

“Well, you’re not,” he said softly. “I mean, your hair’s a bit different,” he amended, eyeing the spot where the ends of it just barely met her shoulders. “And you dress differently. Other than that…you’re exactly the same as the last time I saw you.”

Impulsively, she requested, “Tell me about it?” She swallowed. “The last time you saw” – _her_ – “me.”

He seemed surprised, but acquiesced quickly, nodding. “We were at the war camp,” he began. “At Camlann.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**Camlann, a thousand and a half years (or thereabouts) ago**

She tightened the last of her belts when he stepped up to her, a silver chain in his hands.

“Here,” he said, already clad in armor; all ready for battle. The chain slid over his fingers until it hung before her eyes, the pendant spinning this way and that, catching the light of the candles.

She couldn’t bear to take it. “No.”

“Guinevere – ”

“I won’t take it now.”

He gave a soft sigh, then lifted her hand in his; despite her wishes, the royal seal found itself in her palm. Arthur held it there. “If I am to die,” he said, “I leave Camelot in your care.” He smiled with pride. “And there is no one I would trust more to rule it when I am gone.”

She blinked back her tears, and slipped her hand out from beneath his. “I won’t take it,” she repeated.

He looked ready to argue, but she shook her head. When he chuckled, it bordered on exasperation. “What if I am killed in battle,” he proposed, “and a Saxon gets ahold of this? Or Morgana?”

“Best not to get killed, then.”

His expression softened. “I hope that is not my fate,” he said quietly. “I would hate most of all to never see you again.”

As would she. Her heart seized at the thought now as it had dozens of times before.

Her love, her king, her lord and husband; the whole of her heart. To never see him again –

“You will see me,” she said. “Victory is all but ours now.” Gently, she took the chain from his hands, holding it up; after a moment’s hesitation, he bent his head. “You will win this battle, and the war,” she went on, and hung the royal seal around his neck. “And then you will see me again.”

He smiled slowly, fondly, and ever-so-slightly, nodded. “Until then,” he whispered and bent to kiss her, a sweet and gentle pass of his lips over hers.

_You don’t have to go,_ part of her always wanted to say, even now. But instead she only echoed, “Until then.”

Arthur drew back, giving her one last, lingering look.

Then he turned to walk away, pausing only once more as he lifted the tent’s flap, to glance back at her; with a slight smile, he inclined his head to her.

With that, he took one more step, the flap falling down behind him.

And she never saw him again.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“What on earth is this?”

Gwen put a fist to her mouth so she wouldn’t laugh.

Merlin had returned with two bags and Arthur, bless him, had rummaged through them like a curious child, until he had come across a pair of plain, black boxers. Which he was now turning over and stretching every which way in his hands.

“It’s underwear,” Merlin informed, looking about as put-upon as Gwen felt amused. “People wear it under their trousers.”

Arthur grimaced. “Seems awfully…”

They waited.

“…constricting.”

Gwen pressed her lips together and looked to the ceiling.

“You’ll be fine, my lord,” Merlin deadpanned.

Arthur didn’t seem convinced but still nodded. “A man must adapt,” he declared, like he was issuing a royal edict. Then he turned to her. “Do you have a place where I might change?”

She stuck her thumb out over her shoulder. “Bedroom’s that way.”

He inclined his head to her. “Thank you,” he said, and turned to Merlin expectantly.

Merlin baulked. “I’m not your manservant here.”

Arthur’s expression didn’t change.

“No!” Merlin protested, his beard shaking from it. “You know what, I am an old man, I am the most powerful sorcerer on earth – I am magic itself, I will not – ” He sighed. “Fine,” he relented. “Go on, then, you prat.”

“That’s no way to speak to your king,” Arthur was saying as they moved away.

“You’re not the king anymore.”

“I can still kill you.”

“I’m immortal.”

“Well, I’ve got an ancient and powerful blade.”

“And who _do you think gave that to you?_ ”

The door shut behind them, and Gwen dissolved into a fit of giggles.

Muffled sounds could be heard from the bedroom every now and again, and Gwen could only imagine what ridiculous sight they were part of. Shaking her head, she walked back to the desk and picked up the mug of now cold coffee. With her fingers around it, she paused, thinking about what Arthur had said. About Camlann.

She’d listened, waiting for something to come. But there was nothing. She felt nothing.

_‘Sorry,’_ she’d said, once he was finished. _‘That means nothing to me.’_

He looked like she’d mortally wounded him.

Merlin’s return saved her from having to deal with it.

And the bedroom door creaking open saved her from having to feel bad about it now.

_Have mercy,_ she thought, the sentiment all hers. Arthur emerged, in sleek black pants and a crisp white shirt, unbuttoned at the collar; he fiddled with the sleeves, muscles moving as he pulled them back.

“Is this really what kings wear in this time?” he was saying as he went.

 He caught her looking then, pausing in his steps. Ever-so-slightly, he smirked.

“There are no kings.” Merlin trotted in behind him. “Well, I mean, there is a queen, but – the point is, you’re good.”

“I wouldn’t trust your judgement on this any more than I would a blind man’s, Merlin,” Arthur said, never once looking at the man question. “What do you think, Gwen?”

That she really didn’t have to remember him to do any of things going through her head right now. “You’re good,” she agreed.

He grinned now, quick and crooked.

“But, umm…” She went to him like a woman possessed, reaching for his arm. “Here,” she said, touching the end of his sleeve; he’d only pushed it back so she began folding it, once, twice, until it rested at his elbow. He held out his other arm when she was done, without a word.

Merlin, also silently, left them for the kitchen and began rummaging through her cupboards; she didn’t even have it in her to mind.

“There,” she finally said, other sleeve all done. “Now you’re perfect.”

She trailed her eyes up his chest, intent on meeting his, and got stuck on his mouth. His smile was still there, not too wide, but warm and gentle; she watched his lips move as he said, “Thank you.”

She gave half-a-shrug and half-a-nod, and some kind of awkward smile in return.

Her fingers tingled strangely, and it took a moment to realize she still held on to his arm, feeling his pulse beneath her hand – going faster, and faster, and –

Someone knocked on the door.

She jumped a foot in the air. Arthur held an arm in front of her, going for something at his hip with the other and grasping at nothing but air. They both turned to Merlin.

From here he stood munching on cereal right out of the box, crumbs falling into his beard, Merlin shrugged.

The knock came again.

Gwen went around Arthur to answer it, turning and pulling on the knob.

There was another strange man at her door.

“So, funny story,” he said. “I’m just there minding my own business, when this morning, I suddenly remember that I was once a knight of Camelot, that I died an ignoble death at the hands of Morgana Pendragon, and that the girl I’ve been seeing ‘round the building actually used to be my queen.”

Gwen stared at him.

Arthur was suddenly behind her, exclaiming, “Gwaine!”

“And there’s my king,” the man – _Gwaine_ said, breaking into a grin.

“You – you remember me?” Arthur let out.

Gwaine shrugged. “Yeah.”

Gwen looked over her shoulder, meeting Arthur’s eyes; she swore she actually saw his heart break.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_Under the wind and thunder beating down upon it, the waters of the lake rippled from beneath._

_She broke the surface, taking in a mighty breath; the smell of rain and salt and magic filled her lungs, her heart beating again for the first time in more than a thousand years._

_She swam to shore, drenched to the bone, and marveled at the feeling of solid ground beneath her feet._

_The waters rippled again, a mighty gust of wind blowing through the trees, raising waves as tall as her; now the ground itself shook, from the force of what followed her back into this world._

_In the darkness, she smiled._


	2. Chapter 2

“Why can’t she remember me?”

Standing by the window, and seemingly only staring out into the night, Merlin said, “I don’t know, Arthur.”

Gwaine hadn’t been the last to come. An hour later, Leon and Percival were at the door, too – Leon, only slightly less bearded than Arthur remembered him, and Percival, still more gentle giant than man.

Guinevere had opened the door to receive them, too, and there had been no funny story, no comment on the strangeness of the situation; they had only bowed at the sight of her, and said, _‘Your Highness’_.

For a moment, Arthur swore she recognized them; she had looked on them with such great fondness, for just that moment. But then it was gone, and she said she didn’t know them either, having only seen them in passing in this cluster of buildings they all seemed to live in. Like Merlin, and Gwaine.

He had thought for certain her memory would return when her brother came.

Elyan had turned up and Arthur’s heart had leapt with joy; surely, him, Guinevere would know. But when he rushed to hug her, she’d asked of Elyan the same question she had of him: _‘who are you?’_

She knew no one, and for the life of him, Arthur couldn’t understand why.

_They_ all remembered. But all Guinevere had said was, _‘Does everyone from king Arthur’s round table live in my building?’_

Then, after a while, she’d grown tired of all these strange men littering her home and asked them to go to theirs; none had to go far.

Arthur, left without much choice, went with Merlin.

“All the others remember,” he persisted. “Why can’t Guinevere?”

With a great sigh, Merlin repeated, “I don’t know.”

“I do think she might’ve recognized Leon and Percival.”

“I don’t think so.”

“No, I saw it,” Arthur insisted. “I saw it in her eyes, she looked at them as if they were old friends.”

“Perhaps there is a trace that lingers,” Merlin allowed. “Of her old life. The same that made her believe us when we told her who we were. But she remembers nothing.”

Restless, Arthur jumped up from the bed he’d been sitting on.

“And I suppose it makes sense,” Merlin went on, unprompted, “that the strongest trace was left behind by Leon and Percival. They were with her the longest.”

Arthur halted his pacing, and turned to stare at the back of Merlin’s head. “By that logic,” he said, “would she not react strongly to you, too?”

There was silence. And then – “I wasn’t with her.”

“What?”

Finally, Merlin turned to face him. “After the battle,” he said, “I did not return to Camelot.”

Arthur grew still. “You abandoned her?” he demanded, low and deadly.

For the first time, Merlin looked stricken. “I did,” he admitted. “I’m sor – ”

“In all the times I thought I would die,” Arthur cut him off, “what was the one thing I asked of you?”

“To take care of – ”

“To take care of Guinevere. The only comfort I had in leaving her was _knowing_ that I would do so in your care. And now I learn” – he heaved a breath – “you left her alone.”

“Arthur – ”

“Is it even any wonder,” he raised his voice, “she won’t remember that life, when she was left completely alone?”

“She wasn’t alone,” Merlin said. “She had the others.”

“That is no excuse,” Arthur ground out.  

“Perhaps,” Merlin conceded, “but she reigned for a long time, after Camlann. And I know, at least Leon and Percival were with her for most all of it.”

_She reigned for a long time._ Arthur’s heart swelled with those few words. And yet it still beat with resentment. “And how would _you_ know?” he spat.

“I heard rumors.”

“Hmm, rumors,” Arthur sneered. “She thought of you as her best friend in the world, and all you know of her life after my death are _rumors?_ ”

For a while, Merlin said nothing. Then, Arthur saw the tears glistening in his eyes. “I’ve had over a thousand years to regret that,” he spoke, voice deep and frail. “As I did everything else.” The first tear fell, trailing down until it was lost in his beard. “But in the end, it is I who was completely alone, Arthur.”

Arthur looked away.

There was silence for the longest time.

“But now that we are all here,” Merlin was the one to break it, “we must work to find out why.”

Closing his eyes, Arthur took a deep breath. He didn’t want to find out why. He didn’t want to fight another battle. He’d fought his last one two days – _a thousand and a half years_ – ago. He wanted peace.

And Guinevere.

“What are your thoughts?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t know anything, do you?” Arthur muttered.

“All I was told,” Merlin said, “is that when Albion’s need was greatest, you would rise again.” He spread his arms out. “You’ve risen, but Albion is not Albion anymore, and no one ever said anything about the others.”

That helped – in no way.

“It’s so strange,” Arthur commented quietly, “that they’re all here. Guinevere, and the knights – even you. You’re all here, in the same place. You knew, but none of them remembered before today – Guinevere still doesn’t.” He swallowed. “So…how are you all here?”

Most strangely, Merlin smiled; a small, cunning tick of his lips. “Because this is Camelot.”

Arthur closed his eyes again, this time in a silent prayer for patience. “You’ve gone mad over these thousand years, haven’t you?”

But Merlin was still smiling. “No, this place, these grounds – they are where Camelot used to be.”

Arthur froze. “What – that…can’t be.” He looked wildly about the room, as if it would have the answers. “Then where’s the palace? The city?”

“They’re gone,” Merlin said, mournfully, and Arthur felt the sting of loss like he’d never known before.

“Torn down centuries ago – long after Camlann, long after Gwen’s reign,” Merlin was quick to add, and despite the pain, Arthur breathed a sigh of relief. “But it is no accident that they are all here. I was the first to come – never left really.” Merlin’s smile returned. “I was always here, somewhere, waiting for you to rise again.”

Arthur gulped.

“So, when they built _these_ walls,” Merlin went on, “I came to live within them. Then the others started coming. Gwen was the first. Got the fright of my life when I saw her. Thought I _did_ go mad.” Despite everything, Arthur smiled. “Then the others,” Merlin continued. “Leon and Percival, they share a flat. Then Gwaine. Elyan.”

It looked like he might mention another name, but none came. Instead he said, “They were all drawn here. And I always believed...they foretold your return.”

“But there is one,” he added after a moment, “I never saw. And it troubles me.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow.

“Morgana.”

His nostrils flared. “Why would she be here?”

Merlin shrugged. “If there is trouble, she is never far.”

“That was in Camelot.”

“And this place becomes more like the Camelot we knew each day,” Merlin argued; Arthur turned from him again.

He’d fought at Camlann to put an end to her terror once and for all. To think it was for nothing –

“That doesn’t mean she’s the reason we’ve returned,” he said.

“Perhaps not,” Merlin conceded. “But if you are all here, then I have to think she is nearby, too.”

Arthur only sighed.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

She opened the door after the second knock.

“I know it’s late,” Arthur said, “and that you wanted everyone to leave, but…I was wondering if I might have a moment of your time?”

After a beat, Guinevere smiled and stepped aside.

“Do you need something?” she asked as she closed the door.

“In a manner of speaking,” he allowed. “Merlin and I were talking, about…why we’re all here and, well, he’s had some thoughts. _I_ am not sure what to think.”

She frowned. “What does that have to do with me?”

He shrugged. “I always came to you for council,” he said softly. “I thought perhaps you still retained your wisdom…if not your memories.”

She bit her lip. “I am sorry about that.”

“It’s alright.”

“Everyone remembers,” she said, playing with the pendant around her neck, “and I just…feel bad that I don’t. I mean, that man, the one who says he’s my brother.” Her forehead creased as she added, “He looked so heartbroken when I didn’t know him.”

“He loves you dearly.”

She gave him an odd kind of look. “As do you.”

He smiled. “As do I,” he agreed.

After a moment, she cleared her throat. “So, what are these thoughts Merlin’s had?”

“Right, um…” He ran a hand over the back of his neck. “Well, he mostly thinks Morgana is involved.”

“Who _is_ this Morgana?”

Arthur gave a great sigh. “My sister, actually.”

“Oh,” Guinevere let out, eyes wide. “Is she the one you had a son with?”

“WHAT?” Arthur reeled. “What – no! What on earth – of course not, what son, what – ” he spluttered. “I had no son with – what – Morgana? No! What sort of – ”

Guinevere burst out laughing.

“I’m sorry.” She wheezed through her giggles. “But – you should see the look – on your face.”

Arthur only stood, confused – and, quite frankly, a little offended – watching her laugh.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, once she’d winded down; a giggle or two still escaped her though. “Didn’t think that part of the legends was true now that I’ve met you, but still…”

Arthur grimaced. “People say that? About me and” – he shuddered – “Morgana?”

“Yeah.” Guinevere nodded. “I mean, it varies, but a lot of the time it’s said you were lovers” – Arthur’s stomach turned – “and that you had a son together. Mordred.”

_Mordred._

“He wasn’t my son,” he said.

“Nephew?”

“We weren’t bound by blood.”

Guinevere blinked, then seemed to grow repentant. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you – ”

“No, it’s fine,” he assured. “Mordred was one of my knights. I was very fond of him.” He looked away. “But he betrayed me.”

“Was he the one to – I mean, at Camlann, was he the one who…”

“Yes.”

He swore he truly saw his Guinevere in her now, in the way her face twisted with pain; he blinked and it was gone.

“I didn’t mean to make a joke out of it,” she said.

He shrugged. “Think nothing of it.” But the memory still lingered in him – still fresh, so close he might just touch it if he tried. Mordred striking him. Him doing the same to the boy. Watching the life fade out of him as he fell to the ground.

He’d never wanted that. Any of it. And by God, he didn’t want to have to do it again.

Guinevere was suddenly before him, eyes full of concern. “What is it?” she asked, her voice soothing like a balm to a wound.

“Merlin believes,” he spoke quietly, “that if I have returned, it is because there is something – someone we must fight. But I – I don’t want to.” He shook his head. “I know it’s been a long time, but not to me. I just finished a war, I don’t want to have to fight another one.”

Her arms came around his shoulders.

He swayed under it, too surprised to move, then sunk into her embrace.

He’d longed for this from the moment they said goodbye; in the moment just before all life drained from him, in Merlin’s arms, he’d thought of Guinevere’s.

He held her tighter, laying his head in the crook of her neck.

All too soon, she drew back, a bewildered look on her face.

“I don’t know why I did that,” she said, as if dazed, then gave a strained laugh. “I just – um – ”

He hoped for something, anything, the smallest hint of recollection in her eyes, of _knowing_ she had held him so a hundred times before.

But there was nothing.

“I mean, I feel sorry,” she added, words coming together a little too quickly, “for you, that is. That you – uh – have to – fight – things.”

He felt sorry for himself, too.

Robbed of the comfort of her, he let his arms drop to his sides.

“You don’t remember this,” he spoke after a while, “but you told me once, that being king was my duty.” He swallowed. “So, is it my duty now, too? To be – whatever it is that I am here to be?”

Her mouth worked but no words left it, until, finally, she shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“I’m asking you what you think.”

“I don’t know what to think.”

“Yes, you do!” he let out, suddenly frustrated.

Her breath caught, and he felt terrible. Closing his eyes, he strove to calm himself. “Forgive me,” he said. “But I know, if you could remember…you would know to tell me what to do.”

She said nothing for a while. And then – “If you want to know what I think, I think that if you take up an office, it’s your job to do everything it entails, and if you can’t do it, then just say so. And I know you didn’t ask for this, but if you’re here for a reason, if some – _thing_ , brought _you_ here, then you’ve got to decide if you still want the job, if you still believe in whatever made you lead armies and kingdoms in the first place – and if you don’t, then there’s probably others who will!”

He stared at her, the rise and fall of her heaving chest, transfixed.

She seemed to suddenly snap out of it and shook her head, her curls bouncing with it, adding, “That was rude, I’m sorry.”

_My Guinevere._

She painted such a perfect picture of the girl – the queen – he knew so well, it nearly brought him to tears. 

“See?” He swallowed. “That wasn’t so hard.”

She gulped.

He almost smiled. “You’re just the same in this life as you were in the one before.”

Now, she frowned. “It’s not past lives, it’s what I’ve learned in this one,” she said, gesturing behind her, to the cluttered desk he’d seen before, and he had no idea what it meant. “Not that I’ve had any other ones.”

“You did,” he argued immediately.

“Well, I don’t remember!”

It was as a blow to the gut.

“I know.” He nodded. “But it will come to you,” he said, and did – had to – believe it with all of his heart. “I know it will.”

She said nothing in return, only giving a quiet, soft sigh.

He summoned the strength to speak again. “And thank you,” he told her. “For the council you’ve given me. You’re right, of course.” _As always._ “You do still have your wisdom – even if it was only acquired in this life,” he added quickly; almost like it was without meaning to, her mouth twitched into a smile.

“So” – he drew a deep breath – “tell me…what is it you’ve learned in it?”

She only seemed to understand his meaning when he nodded towards her desk.

“Oh.” She laughed lightly, all her tension seemingly drained. “I’m actually working on my thesis,” she said, coming by the desk, turning some papers over. “For my doctorate.” She narrowed her eyes there. “That means nothing to you, does it?”

He shook his head. “Mm-mm.”

“Well, let’s just say it’s part of my…studies.”

“Huh.” He came up next to her, glancing over the same heavy tomes he had before. “Are you a noblewoman in this time?”

She quirked an eyebrow, looking at him like he was mad. “No.”

“Then who’s granting you access to all this?”

“Excuse me?”

_Ah, hell._ “I’ve offended you in some way now, haven’t I?”

Lips pursed, she said, “A bit. You don’t have to apologize,” she added when he opened his mouth to do just that. “I know studying wasn’t always granted to everyone, especially not where you’re from – but some things change for the better.”

He smiled. “So what is it you study?”

She seemed to go through a few possible answers, then eventually settled on one, like it was the simplest, “Political science.”

“Politics are a science now?” He frowned. “Well, back in _my_ day, they just called it being heir to the throne and – what’s so funny?”

She put a hand to her mouth to hide her giggle. “Nothing, it’s just – well, you said _‘back in my day’_ ,” she intoned.

He raised his eyebrows.

“It’s what old people say,” she said with a laugh. “You know, when they don’t approve of what the youth does.”

_Oh._ “Well, I am, technically, over a thousand years old. I might as well act my age.”

She laughed again. “You’re funny.”

He looked over to her, so amused – so beautiful. Swallowing down all the things he wanted to say, he smirked and instead teased, “Perhaps I’ll teach you, then.”

She gasped. “Are you saying I’m _dull?_ ”

“Well, you’re not _funny._ ”

Though her mouth still hung open in outrage, it began curving at the corners, and she ducked her head, shaking it as she chuckled.

He watched her while she could not see, so taken with the sight she made, and averted his gaze the moment she looked up. It fell upon the clutter on her desk instead.

There was not a quill in sight, and yet there were pages and pages – on parchment that was thin and white – filled with writing that he knew had to be hers, though in a much different hand than he remembered. He could not decipher a word of this one.

And there was all manner of things he could not name. One, that pulled apart on springs and held some kind of bars – another, that was as big as a sheet of this strange new parchment, but made of sturdy material, thick and black; he could even begin to guess its purpose.

“You’re curious about all this, aren’t you?” he heard Guinevere ask.

He looked up now, to find a contemplative sort of look on her face. “Yeah.” He shrugged. “There’s not one thing here that’s _actually_ familiar to me. Like this – ” He pointed to a book. “I know what it is, and yet it’s bound differently, and the letters look all wrong, and that” – he moved to the strange black shape – “is so completely beyond my comprehension, I couldn’t even begin to guess its name. And those things Merlin made come to life before” – he gestured to the kitchen behind him – “I can’t guess their names either, I’ve no idea what they do. And when we were coming here, the streets were filled with all these – carriages, and they had wheels but no horses, how is that?”

He was nearly out of breath by the time he was done, and Guinevere was staring at him.

He waited, expectantly, but instead of answering any of his questions, she only asked, “Are you hungry?”

Thrown, he still said, “I could eat.”

“Come on.” She nodded to the door, already moving.

He frowned. “Where are we going?”

“Out.”

“ _Out?_ ”

“There’s a place that’s still open nearby,” she told him. “They’ve got great fish and chips.”

Great fish and what? “Is it like a tavern?”

“Uh…probably not.”

“Right. Um – is this wise? I don’t think Merlin would be too happy that I’m wandering about.”

“He doesn’t have to know.”

She made an excellent point.

“Well, then I am entirely in your hands.”

She smiled. “Let’s go introduce you to the wonders of the new world, shall we?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

**Camelot**

 

“Is this wise?”

“You said you were hungry.”

“And you say _that_ like it’s only my own fault.”

Guinevere looked at him over her shoulder; even in the darkness of the hallway, her eyes shone with affection.

They’d spent hours in bed, well past midnight, and he’d worked up an appetite.

“You’re the one who can’t wait until breakfast,” Guinevere said, turning back to watch the guards turn a corner.

Arthur leaned in, whispering in her ear, “I’ll have you for breakfast.”

The little shiver that went through her delighted him.

“And you’re the one,” he added, “who says I can’t just wake Merlin and have him fetch me some food.”

“He works hard every day, the least you can do is let him get some sleep.”

Always so considerate.

“So I have to resort to sneaking about my own castle?”

Again, Guinevere glanced back to meet his eyes. “Do you want the food or not?”

As if to answer her question, his stomach gave a grumble; she grinned in triumph.

“Come on,” she said, taking his hand. She led the way down the hallway, then the stairs, until they were before the kitchen doors.

She pushed them open a fraction, sticking her head in; she seemed to decide all was good because she pushed them open then, allowing him entrance.

He stood in the middle of the room, assessing the place. He had been promised an abundance of food but there was not a plate in sight; not so much as a goblet, actually.

“There’s nothing here.”

As the door creaked closed behind her, Guinevere said, “Patience.”

He watched her mill about, eyes going from one cupboard to the next. “Let’s see,” she muttered, “where would they put it?”

“What?”

“I haven’t worked here in a while,” she was saying, turning over this cloth and that, “so I don’t know where they keep it now.”

“They…hide the food?”

She hummed. “So it wouldn’t get stolen in the night.” She bit her lip. “Like right now.”

He smiled.

She rummaged about for a while longer, and finally swung open a cupboard by one of the stoves; victorious, she emerged with a plate in her hands. “Here.”

Arthur was already there by the time she set it on the table and uncovered the food.

“Finally,” he breathed, grabbing for a piece of ham.

Guinevere chuckled. “They do keep quite a feast for the pigs these days.”

Arthur stopped dead, ham halfway to his mouth. “You’re feeding me leftovers for the pigs?”

“You’ll be fine,” Guinevere said softly, reaching for a piece of cheese; she put it in her mouth without a moment’s hesitation.

Arthur, for his part, debated whether he was more prideful or hungry; the latter won out.

Still, as he chewed, he said, “I can’t believe you’re giving me pigs’ food.”

“It’s _your_ food,” Guinevere corrected. “It’s just what’s left at the end of the day, after everyone’s had theirs. It’s perfectly fine. They just don’t want to waste it, so they leave the last of the leftovers to give to the pigs in the morning.” Delicately, she added, “And sometimes it gets stolen before they can.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes, leaning back against the table. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

“A few times,” she admitted, eyes downcast. Softer than before, she added, “After Father died. My maid’s salary alone wasn’t always enough to keep food in the house.”

Arthur stilled. “You were going hungry?” he asked quietly, chest suddenly tight.

“I managed,” Guinevere said, lightly nodding to the plate as if to indicate her meaning.

“Why didn’t you say something?”

She shrugged. “What was I going to say?”

“You could’ve come to me, I would’ve – ”

“What, had Merlin deliver feasts to my door?”

“Yes.”

She chuckled. “That’s sweet,” she said. “But I was fine. Like I said, it was only a few times. It just took a little time for things to settle, that’s all.”

For all that he’d been hungry before, he found he had little appetite now. “Does that happen a lot?” he asked. “People having to sneak in here for food?”

“Sometimes,” she allowed, lips rubbing together. “A lot less since you became king.” Her smile returned there, full of pride.

Though she praised him, Arthur still threw down the food he held. “What good am I as king if my people are going hungry?”

“It’s not like that,” Guinevere said. “Life is better for the people under your rule than it has been in years.” _Than it was under your father’s_ , was what she really meant.

“And yet…”

“Well,” she drew the word out. “If you were to add only ten gold sovereigns to the coffers for the servants’ wages…”

“I would.” He sighed. “But we are still rebuilding after the Southrons and Morgana. I barely have the coin for that, I can’t afford to give it away for anything else. Battles are expensive.”

“You could raise the taxes.”

He had never heard a more shocking thing come out of her mouth. “ _You_ would have me raise the taxes?”

“On the nobles,” she drawled, like he ought to have gotten it on his own – in hindsight, he should have.

Still – “The tax taken is based on wealth, everyone gives away the same share of their fortune. I can’t place a different share on some and still claim to treat everyone equally.”

Guinevere gave him a look he couldn’t quite place. Eventually, she only said, “The nobles can afford to be taxed more heavily than a simple servant.”

He sighed. “Fine. But then I’ll leave _you_ to deal with their discontent once I announce it.”

She sighed in kind. “Then perhaps, you should appeal to their loyalty to you,” she proposed. “Tell them, that in this time of need, you ask them to forfeit a small part of their fortune for the good of all.”

“Yes, I do see them parting with their riches eagerly,” Arthur deadpanned.

“They wouldn’t be able to refuse _you._ ” She raised her eyebrows. “They would lose all their good standing if they refused such a heartfelt and noble request from their beloved king.”

It struck him that she had put a lot of thought into this.

And he began to strongly suspect that none of this had been an accident.

“Or,” she went on, “if you are loath to do it, you could ask for a loan from Camelot’s allies.”

He pursed his lips. “Says the girl who wouldn’t even let anyone help her when she was starving.”

“I wasn’t starv – never mind.” She blew out a soft breath. “My point is, there are ways to ensure there is enough money for all.” She smiled, pointedly lifting another piece of cheese off the plate. “And that the pigs are never robbed of their feast again.”

She chewed with a smile, and slowly, Arthur felt one coming on to his own lips.

He reached for her, pulling her close; her hands came to rest on his chest.

“You’ve got a great mind for politics, did I ever tell you that?”

She grinned, shaking her head. “Never once.”

“That’s my mistake, then,” he said, leaning in to brush a light kiss against her lips.

When he pulled back, he added, “You do, though. And it’s only been a few weeks…” He took hold of her hand, to toy with the ring he had put there. “But I know time will show…that Camelot could never have hoped for a better queen.”

This time when she smiled, it lit up the entire room.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“See now, _this_ tastes good,” Arthur said, slurping on the milkshake.

Gwen pursed her lips. “We’re past the point where you worry about offending me, then?”

He grinned around the straw.

They were just the two of them left this late, taking up a table in the corner. She had introduced him to modern food – which he’d seemed to enjoy –, covered the concept of motorized vehicles, kitchen appliances, the general education system, and mobile phones – or just phones in general.

Needless to say, explaining any one of those things to a man who was still used to chamber pots had been something of a challenge.

But he’d seemed happy to hear about all of it – although she suspected he was happiest to just spend time with her.

And so she felt bad again, because as charming as she found him, he was no one to her. Strange feelings of familiarity, random thoughts that she had no reason to think, came and went in waves, but in the end, he remained the same strange man she’d met that morning.

“So, people really don’t know Camelot actually existed?” he was saying now, tirelessly hung up on the topic.

“No.” Gwen shook her head. “I mean, some have said it was real over the years, but it’s mostly just legend. Plenty of stories out there, though.”

“What kind of stories?”

Far be it from her to claim expertise, but she mostly remembered being told of affairs and banishments. “All sorts,” she said. “It’s sort of become…popular, to tell it over and over again, changing something here and there. I think it’s actually impossible to count _all_ the stories there are. And it’s not just stories – it’s poetry, and films, and art – ”

“Art?” Arthur let out eagerly.

“Yeah.” She nodded. “Paintings, and statues, and stuff.”

He bit his lip. “Any you could show me?”

“Sure.” She reached for her phone again, taking advantage of the free wi-fi.

“Are you…calling…someone?” Arthur asked slowly, as if to make sure he’d get the wording right.

“Actually, I’m looking up this art for you. On the internet.”

“On the what?”

Ah, there they went again. “Um, it’s like – alright, imagine there’s this big…library,” she said. “And it’s got all the knowledge of the world. It’s hidden, though, so you can’t see it – but if you ask for it, you’ll get anything you want. Like, if I ask for ‘queen Guinevere’, I get – ” She tapped on the first image that came up – a red-haired, white woman holding up a sword to a man’s shoulder – and turned the screen around to Arthur. “This.”

She had never seen a more comical grimace on a man’s face in her life.

“Well, that’s not right!” he let out.

Stifling a giggle, she launched another search. Holding up the phone to him again, she said, “Neither’s this.”

Now, he only stared blankly. “Who’s that supposed to be?”

“You.”

“I never had a beard! Well, actually, I did let it grow out once,” he amended, “but it…didn’t last very long.”

“Why not?”

“Well, uh, it’s just that…things kept…”

She raised an eyebrow –

“…getting stuck in it.”

– and burst out laughing.

Arthur joined her, rich and deep.

Slowly, like an oncoming wave, she swore she heard her own laughter echoing in her ears, muffled, as if from under water, closer, higher, just about ready to break the surface.

And then it was gone.

Arthur was talking again. It took a moment to realize he was thanking her.

She cleared her throat. “What for?”

“Just…bringing me here, sitting with me.” He shrugged. “It’s nice.”

She smiled. “My pleasure.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Lovely weather we’re having.”

Seated at his dining table, Merlin only said, “It was the same yesterday.”

“I know, but…” Arthur looked out the window, to the thick thunderclouds and pouring rain. “I mean, I know you said it was autumn and all, but…still.”

Merlin hummed, bringing a – pen? Pen, down to the – the – newspaper!

“What are you doing?”

“Solving the crossword puzzle."

“Right.”

Arthur waited, and waited – and waited, until he was finally _forced_ to ask, “Where’s my breakfast?”

“Make it yourself,” Merlin said dryly.

“ _Merlin._ ”

“I helped you dress yesterday, that’s all the manservant you’re getting out of me in this life.”

Arthur sighed. “Fine,” he said. “But if I set myself on fire – ”

“I’m not putting you out.”

“That’s very funny.”

“Mm.”

Left to his own devices, Arthur walked over to the kitchen, clasping his hands as he studied the possibilities before him. After much deliberation, he concluded that the only things of use to him were a knife and a loaf of bread. Resigned to his fate, he took both and started slicing.

He turned to lean on the doorway into the kitchen. “I think I shall go see Guinevere in a bit,” he announced to the back of Merlin’s head, shoving pieces of bread into his mouth.

“It’s early morning, Arthur,” Merlin said, “don’t hound her like a dog, for god’s sake.”

He resented that. “She’s my wife, and I want to see her. I don’t expect you to understand.” Then, something occurred to him. “Actually, were you ever – ”

“Married? No.”

“Really? Not once?”

“No.”

“Huh.”

“I did talk to Freya sometimes.”

“Oh, that’s – who’s Freya?”

“A girl I like.”

Arthur tried to decide if he was just stretching the limits of use of the word ‘girl’ or if he was an old pervert. “Aha, and where is she?”

“She’s the spirit of the lake of Avalon.”

Arthur pursed his lips. “Merlin, are you making this girl up?”

Now, Merlin did turn around to look at him. “No! I’m serious, she lives in the lake!”

“She lives in the – ” He gave up. “Alright.”

Merlin huffed, scrunching his nose at him. Then proceeded to ignore him again in favor of his – crossword puzzle.

Arthur picked away at the bread, before asking, “You think Guinevere will remember me eventually, don’t you?”

Somehow, Merlin’s silence seemed tinged with annoyance. In the end, he said, “You’re not the only one she doesn’t remember, Arthur.”

“I know.” He nodded. “But I – ”

A knock on the door interrupted him.

He raised an eyebrow at Merlin. “What was it you said about early mornings?”

Merlin shrugged, then yelled, _“Tóspringe!”_

The door swung open, and Gwaine jumped a foot away from it. 

As strange as it still was to see Merlin do magic, Arthur doubled over with laughter.

“Oh, just you laugh,” Gwaine was saying, a grinning Leon trotting in behind him. “You’ll feel terrible when my heart fails and I drop dead. Again.”

Arthur pressed his lips together. “Well, Leon’s not afraid,” he said, grandly gesturing to the man in question.

“This hardly gets my heart going,” Leon agreed, then took on the faraway look of a man who had _seen_ things.

Merlin looked between the two of them, and only asked, “Why are you here?”

Gwaine cocked his head at him. “You know, it’s just so weird seeing you like this. With the – beard and the everything.”

Merlin’s nose wrinkled. “Yes, yes, I’m old and you’re still young and pretty, I get it,” he grumbled.

Arthur laughed again. “Really, though, why _are_ you here?” He turned to the men.

“Well, we’re knights of Camelot, you’re the king.” Gwaine shrugged. “Thought we ought to come see you.”

Leon, however, looked a little shifty. Arthur raised an eyebrow at him.

“I was actually on my way to see the queen,” Leon admitted. “But then I realized she doesn’t remember me, so…”

“I’m the next best thing?” Arthur deadpanned.

“Something like that.”

Arthur hummed dryly.

“So” – Gwaine clapped his hands – “anything you’d have us do?”

“Actually, yes,” Arthur said, throwing a disdainful look Merlin’s way before he ordered, “Find me some damned food.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Gwen sat by her window, cup in hand, watching the comings and goings at the gate.

Two of the men she’d seen yesterday – Gwaine and Leon – went through, sloshing through the rain, then came back carrying more bags than was needed by a family of ten, soaked to the bone.

The went again in turns, them and the other two – Elyan and Percival – trudging back in with this box and that, big and small, long and short; she had no idea what they were up to.

And honestly, she felt a little left out.

Then, she realized she’d wasted hours just staring out the window.

With a sigh, she moved away to pour herself more coffee.

No one came to visit her all day, and she saw no one on her way to the store and back; she started to think that maybe she’d imagined the whole thing.

But then of course, just as night began to fall, Arthur was at her door.

“Hello,” he said, wide smile on his face. He thrust a bouquet at her. “These are for you.”

“Um, thank you.” She took the flowers, leaning in to smell them on reflex.

He smiled wider still. “May I come in?”

She nodded, stepping aside.

“I’ll go put this in water.” She nodded to the flowers, taking off in search of a vase; she was pretty sure there was one under the sink.

“So, I saw the others coming in with bags and boxes all day,” she said as she worked, throwing him a curious look over her shoulder. “What are you up to?”

Arthur opened his mouth as if to speak, but then it turned into a crooked grin. “It’s a surprise.”

Without even thinking about it, she asked, “Tell me!”

Still grinning, he shook his head. “You’ll see.”

What a ridiculous man. “Alright,” she gave up, carrying the vase and the flowers over to the coffee table.

“These are lovely,” she said as she set them down, lightly dragging a finger over the petals. “Thanks again.”

He shrugged. “I know you like flowers.”

Actually, she’d never thought of herself as particularly inclined to them. Still, it was a nice gesture.

“And I think you’ll be pleased to hear,” Arthur said, “that I finally know what a thesis is.”

“Yeah?”

He nodded. “I looked it up myself,” he announced proudly. “In the invisible library.”

Gwen ducked her head, biting back a smile. “That’s…great.”

“It is,” Arthur agreed, seemingly unware that she was trying not to laugh at him. “These times are!” he then added with great enthusiasm. “Do you know how all these new inventions could have served Camelot?”

“Less people dying of the flu?” Gwen ventured.

His eyebrows scrunched. “Actually, I was thinking that we would’ve won more battles,” he said.

“Of course.”

“Anyway, I had hoped to use the library to find more of that art you spoke of,” he went on. “You’d intrigued me last night, so I thought I’d find some that actually did you justice.” His voice grew softer as he added, “But they are all the same as the one you showed me. None of them right. I’d hoped to have an image of you during your reign, but…”

It was the strangest feeling, hearing him say things like that.

She’d never reigned over anything, except for the corner of her parents’ barn, when she played princess as a child – and yet, there was the faint brush of a weight coming down upon her head, settling around it like a band.

_Or a crown._

“Um…” She cleared her throat. “Can I ask you something?”

He looked all too eager to oblige. “Of course.”

“Yesterday…” She stepped closer. “Merlin said that, back in – Camelot, that my father was a blacksmith. And you…asked me if I was a noblewoman, in _this_ time – like it was a change from…well, before, so…” She licked her lips. “That doesn’t sound like I was royalty.”

“You weren’t born into a noble family, no,” he said softly.

“Right.” Another step, and he was right within her reach. “How is it that I got to be queen, then?”

His mouth ticked at the corner, just the faintest bit, and he gave a small half-shrug, almost bashfully. “You married me.”

Ties slid up around her hands to bind her wrists, like leaves scratching her skin, and the echo of another pulse came to drum against hers; she looked down, and there was nothing.

“Was that really the done thing?” she asked, voice hushed.

“No.” Arthur’s voice was quiet, too. “But we did it anyway.”

She let out a small chuckle, then stared at her hands again. She heard him ask, “What is it?”

“Uh, this is going to sound strange, but did we, at some point…bind our hands together?”

Looking up, she saw his eyes widen; after a beat, he seemed to understand something she didn’t, and his face cleared.

“Handfasting,” he said.

She blinked.

“In a marriage ceremony,” he went on, “the couple’s hands would be bound together with a garland. It…symbolized their union.” With a little quirk of his eyebrow, he added, “I’m guessing that’s not done anymore.”

“No.”

“Pity.” Then, with a sudden spark, he asked, “Did you remember that?”

Staring at the top button of his shirt, she shook her head. His chest rose and fell in a sigh.

“It’s more feeling than memory,” she whispered.

Arthur said nothing but with a finger under her chin, he tilted her head up. For no good reason, as if they had a will of their own, her lips curved into a smile.

He kissed her.

And though it was cold and dark, she felt the warmth of the sun on her cheek.

Arthur drew back, only far enough away to ask, “How’s that for feeling?”

“It’s not bad,” she said around a smile.

He hummed, brushing the hair back from her face before dropping his hand to her waist. His eyes lowered, and for a moment, she thought he was blatantly ogling her chest, only to realize he was examining her necklace.

“That seems old,” he commented.

“Oh…yeah.” She looked down to it, too, bringing her hand up to play with the pendant. “I bought it in an antique shop,” she said. “The salesman said it had no history anyone knew of, it was basically just an old trinket. But I was drawn to it.” She let out a little laugh. “Had to have it.”

“Huh.”

Gwen scrunched her eyebrows at him. “Was it – I mean, did I wear it – you know, before?”

He gave a slight shake of his head. “Not that I know of.”

“Right, but you were also dead,” she pointed out.

He froze. “Right.”

She bit her lip. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he assured. His hand slid around her now, bringing her closer; hers ended up pressed to his chest. “I do wonder,” he went on, “what it is I missed – you know, being…dead.”

“Well…” She stared at his mouth. “There was electricity, plumbing, diesel motors…penicillin…suffrage…the Civil Rights movement…jazz…”

She watched his lips curve into a smile, then move as he said, “I meant of _your_ life.”

“Oh.” She swallowed. “Well, I can’t actually answer that.”

“I know.”

Her fingers started moving against his chest, drawing circles. “Can’t you ask the others?”

“I’m tempted.” His other hand came up to cup the back of her neck. “I want to sit Leon and Percival down and not let them leave until they give me every detail. But…” He licked his lips. “I’d rather hear it from you.” Quietly, he added, “I’ll just wait for you to remember. Then you can tell me.”

Personally, she wouldn’t hold her breath on it.

But she wasn’t going to say that, not when his head was lowering and he was kissing her again – deeply, leisurely, like he was savoring it; like they had all the time in the world.

Gwen pressed closer, letting her hands roam; to his hair, his neck, over his shoulders, and back to his chest, feeling the beating of his heart – _heart…_

_With all my –_

A terrible thing set loose in her chest – violent, rattling her ribs like the bars of a cage, angry and starved; like she had kept it imprisoned there for centuries.

She jumped back, and all at once, like she’d been doused in ice water, it stopped.

Arthur blinked owlishly, hands awkwardly halfway up in the air. “What’s wrong?”

“Um – nothing, uh – are you hungry?”

“Uh…no?”

“Are you sure?” she squeaked. “How about pizza? I could eat pizza. Do you want pizza?” She didn’t even give him time to answer before she running to the stash of menus.

“What’s piz – Gwen.”

She spun back to him, a handful of tattered takeout menus held up in front of her like a shield.

Arthur sighed. “Forgive me,” he said, standing stiffly, “if I was too forward.”

“Oh, no – ” She shook her head quickly. “It’s not…forward, it’s just – it’s fine, more than fine – really good – did anyone ever tell you you’re a good kisser?”

“Um, well…” He started gesturing slightly, as if to indicate – her.

“I mean, it’s just weird.”

Now he froze. “Weird?”

“Not bad weird” – _actually, terrible, horrifying weird_ – “just…you know…weird.” She gulped.

He said nothing to that, rubbing his lips together. In the end, he only told her, “I should probably go.”

_Probably._ “No pizza?” she asked feebly.

“Not tonight, I don’t think.” He sighed again. Clearing his throat, he stood straight, and gave her a nod. “We’ll speak again tomorrow,” he said. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” she echoed, not daring to move an inch until he was gone.

The moment the door shut behind him, she fell back against the desk, menus flying to the ground; she brought a hand to her chest.

There was nothing wrong with it now, discounting her erratic breathing; nothing like some damned hell-beast breaking loose in there. _What the hell was that?_

She had no idea, and honestly, she didn’t think she wanted to find out.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Ah, you’re here,” Leon said. “It’s late, we were starting to worry.”

Arthur looked over them all, each with a drink in his hand and lounging about in Merlin’s home, completely unbothered. “I’m touched by your concern.”

“And were might you have been all this time, sire?” Gwaine asked, grinning slowly.

“Romancing Gwen?” Percival proposed.

From his corner, Elyan said, “And please don’t go into details in front of me.”

Arthur didn’t deign to respond. Instead, he straightened and gave them a pointed look. “I thought I told you all to spend this time seeing what you can find out.”

“We have.”

“Clearly.”

Gwaine held up his phone, dangling the thing. “You said to find out what we can. This is how it’s done now.” He tapped at it, cocking his head. “ _Geologists stumped by unusual tremors in the region,_ ” he read. “Well, I don’t care about that.”

Arthur sighed. “Have _any_ of you found anything of use?”

“No,” they answered as one.

“Great.”

“Well, perhaps you bring some good news,” Elyan said. “Does Gwen remember anything yet?”

He sighed again. “No.”

But it had been lovely to kiss her again.

Though it had, evidently, completely horrified _her._

“There, there,” Gwaine consoled and, as a true brother, held up a fresh bottle for Arthur to take.

He huffed a chuckle as he accepted it, pulling up a chair to complete the circle they made.

“It is strange, though,” Merlin spoke for the first time, never once lifting his eyes from the heavy book that lay across his knees, “that she has no memory, while all of you do.”

Arthur frowned at him. “You had no such concerns this morning.”

Merlin shrugged. “The more time goes on, the more it nags at me.”

“He’s right, though,” Gwaine said quietly. “It is as if something sets her apart, holds her back from welcoming her old life.” He made a face there. “You know what else is weird, is that all of my memories and habits came back all at once, and now I can’t stop talking like this.”

Percival clapped him on the shoulder. “At least you’re self-aware.”

“Aye.”

Arthur found no humor in it, though. “You suspect sorcery?” he asked, even when he already knew it; he had heard _that_ tone in so many voices, from so many people; over so many years.

Gwaine gave a contained shrug. “It might explain it.”

“It is true,” Merlin spoke again, “that the last time her memory wasn’t true, Morgana’s sorcery was involved.”

“I remember,” Arthur said curtly, then looked over to the knights; while Gwaine and Elyan frowned, Leon and Percival seemed undisturbed.

They caught him watching. “She told us.”

“She did?” Arthur let out.

“Well, um, once, circumstances were such that she urged us to act if she in any way at all seemed unlike herself,” Leon informed. “When we asked for a reason, she…told that story.” More guarded, shifting uncomfortably, he asked, “Do you really think this is somehow Morgana’s doing?”

“I can’t reject the possibility,” Arthur admitted.

Leon exchanged looks with Percival, silent, impenetrable conversation flowing between the two, and Arthur suddenly resented the both of them.

“Anything else you’d like to share?” he prompted.

After a moment, Leon said, carefully, “I just don’t think it likely _Morgana_ has tampered with the queen’s mind. I do agree that this could be the work of sorcery, though.”

How the man could speak of sorcery and not suspect Morgana, Arthur had no idea.

Then Elyan, ever-so-quietly, said the one thing he had put all of his energy into not thinking. “Maybe she just doesn’t want to remember.”

Silence fell heavily.

It was Leon who broke it, steadfast and firm. “No.”

He shook his head. “Gwen’s heart was always with Camelot – and all of us.” He met Arthur’s eyes. “I can think of no reason she would not want to remember.”

What little hope it brought Arthur, shattered when Percival said, “Maybe she prefers this life.”

Leon turned to him sharply, like he had uttered a mortal offense.

“I’m just saying,” Percival defended, “it’s not out of the realm of possibility. We all – well, except for you two” – he nodded to Arthur and beside him, Merlin – “have two lives inside of us now. When the king’s return brought back our memories, we accepted them without question, but perhaps…perhaps it wasn’t the same for her.” He swallowed. “Perhaps she holds _this_ life more dear than the old one.”

But Leon stood as an immovable object. “I can’t believe _you_ would say that.”

“Leon – ”

“You, who knows as well as I, just how much she loved – ”

“I do know but – ”

“To suggest she would willingly forsake us – ”

“It’s not what I said – ”

“’S damn near treason – ”

“Oh, for heaven’s – you know, if you can’t accept this, it’s just because you can’t bear to think you’re no longer her favorite – ”

“Oi!” Arthur yelled.

They went quiet.

“Enough.”

“Sorry, sire,” they muttered in unison, glancing at each one more time before decidedly looking the other way.

Now, Arthur always wished they’d had kept it up; in the silence, all he could hear were Percival’s words. _Perhaps she holds this life more dear than the old one._

_Don’t let him be right_ , he thought. _Just don’t let him be right._

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

There was a box of chocolates waiting by her door.

Gwen smiled as she picked it up, tugging on the note slipped beneath the ribbon.

_I’m sorry about last night_ , it read, in calligraphy she barely deciphered _. I hope I have not upset you too greatly. If I have, then I hope you will give me a chance to make it up to you. Come to Merlin’s home when you’ve returned. There’s something I’d like to show you. Yours, Arthur._

“Mine,” she mouthed, shaking her head.

She shouldered the door shut, kicking off her heels as she went for the couch. She dropped to the cushions and bit into a chocolate, turning the note over between her fingers.

It was so – well.

_He_ hadn’t upset her. Quite the opposite, really. Feeling like her chest was going to be torn apart by some unimaginable force inside it, on the other hand – that did the job nicely. Under any normal circumstances, having thoughts that weren’t hers and feelings things that weren’t there would have had her sprinting to a psychiatrist – but this was magic, and past lives, and kings rising from the dead, and –

She sighed.

In the light of day, with her office bustling from nine to five and her coworkers choking air where incoming callers couldn’t see them, it seemed – just a little less real. That office, that frenzy– _that_ was real. King Arthur and his round table – that was something else.

Still, she was cordially invited – _summoned_ – to a showing of some sort, and so an appearance she would make.

She put on a nice pair of jeans, a nice blouse, chose nice shoes and grabbed a bottle of wine on her way out, in the spirit of being polite and neighborly.

When she knocked on Merlin’s door, it swung open on its own; she jumped, hand going to her chest, the bottle nearly slipping out of the other one.

“For god’s sake, Merlin!” Arthur was saying, striding across the room to her; Merlin, barely moving, uttered a simple, “Sorry.”

“Forgive him, he’s lived alone for a thousand years and has lost all manners,” Arthur told her, then smiled, every bit charming and kingly. “I’m glad you could come. Please…” He stepped to the side, gesturing for her to come in.

All the others were there, too, standing around; like they’d just been waiting for her.

Elyan, with a wide smile that never really reached his eyes, said, “Hi, Gwen.”

“Hi,” she echoed, then nodded to Gwaine, who raised his glass to her; they already had wine then.

When she turned her eyes to Leon and Percival, they bowed their heads as one, uttering a _‘my lady’_ , then straightened and frowned, like they’d forgotten they ought to greet her differently.

Somehow, them, she felt most sorry for. To them, she wanted to apologize the most for not remembering, out of all of Arthur’s men.

_My men,_ she thought, even as Arthur slid up to her side and she found herself thrusting the bottle at him.

“I brought wine,” she proclaimed unnecessarily.

“Oh. Thank you.” He took the bottle from her hands, giving a small grin. “You didn’t have to that.”

“Well, it’s the polite thing to do, when you’re vising with someone.”

“Ah, then I’ve been terribly rude,” Arthur said, grin widening. “I owe you a few bottles now.”

“Actually, you’re making up for it nicely.”

His eyes widened before his expression settled into something oddly delighted.

She cleared her throat. “Your note said there was something you wanted to show me?”

“Yes,” he affirmed grandly, then looked past her. “Merlin! Catch.” And with that, he threw the bottle.

It stopped midair, suspended as if on invisible strings, with Merlin’s eyes flashing gold and his expression turning sour. “Catch? Really?”

Arthur shrugged.

The bottle made its way safely to a table, and all the men started filing away one by one into a different room; Arthur must have given them some kind of signal.

When they were alone, he turned to her. “I really am glad you could come,” he said, softer than before. “And you look lovely.”

“Thanks.” She smoothed down her hair. “Although, next time – maybe try to make it sound like more of an actual invitation instead of a summons?”

He bit his lip. “Sorry. Old habits…I guess.”

He smiled faintly as he took a step away, back straight, and offered her his hand. “I hope you’ll still come with me?”

She did slip her hand in his, almost laughing at the way he held them up, like he was about to show and twirl her off onto some stage, and let him guide the way.

They came to the entrance of this other room, and she had to bite back another laugh; there, right in the middle of it, with all the others sitting at it proudly, was a big, glass, round table.

Arthur probably mistook her expression for enthusiasm, and it was probably for the best.

Allowing him to lead her to it, she took her seat, folding her hands in her lap. Arthur remained standing, in front of the seat next to hers.

Then, he began a speech.

It was – ridiculous. This whole thing was ridiculous. A resurrected king in a suit giving speeches about Camelot and Albion to men who listened avidly, gathered around an Ikea glass table in a side room of a second-story flat.

Still, though she didn’t really catch a word of it, it made a nice feeling settle in her bones; she put her hands on the glass, and it felt like solid oak beneath her fingers.

She played with her pendant with one hand and drew along the surface with the other mindlessly, leaving traces on the glass. When she glanced down at it, the misshapen blob looked a little like a –

“ – dragon. She was a formidable foe in the time of Camelot, and if she has returned in this time, we can only assume she is the same now,” Arthur was saying. “Leon, Percival, I know what you believe, but we still cannot exclude that she has tampered with the queen’s memories, though we can only guess as to why she’s doing this – ”

It came over her again, swept through her like a chill; the smell of flowers wafted up her nose, the hairs on her arms standing on end. And right there, right in her ear, she heard it like a ghost blowing her a whisper. _Because we’re friends._

She shivered.

“My lady, are you alright?”

She looked up, to Leon watching her with concern.

When she turned to the side, Arthur was the same. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

“Um, I – ” She shook her head. “I don’t – ”

But it wasn’t her he was looking at anymore. And neither were any of the others.

They leapt to their feet, wide eyes locked over her shoulder, chairs scraping the floor – and Arthur was running around to throw himself like a shield between her and whatever it was he had seen.

Whoever.

“I mean you no harm.”

Gwen peeked around Arthur’s arm. A woman stood there – tall, beautiful, sleek black hair falling down her back.

And the name just came to her.

“Morgana.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Stop this!”

Personally, he didn’t even care if Merlin and Morgana finished each other off on the spot.

But they’d frightened Guinevere.

(And he would never admit that he had been frightened, too.)

Now they stood opposite each other, witch and warlock, half the things in Merlin’s home thrown over from their magic. They’d attacked nearly on sight.

The knights were scattered across the room; Guinevere stood behind him like a scared child.

She’d known Morgana. On the spot, she’d recognized _her._ _‘Her, you remember?’_ Arthur had almost demanded, but told himself it had to be Morgana’s sorcery, that she’d used it to plant her name, her image, in Guinevere’s mind. It was the less painful thought.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

Morgana, so unlike the ruins of a person he had last seen her as, raised an eyebrow. “For the same reasons as you. To find out why we’re here.”

“And where,” Merlin hissed, “did you _come_ from?”

“Torn from the spirit world, much like the others,” Morgana said. “Not that _you_ would know what that’s like.” She smirked then, scathing and cruel. “Have you enjoyed your centuries of solitude, Emrys?”

Merlin looked like he might strike again; Morgana looked like she would welcome it.

“None of us have seen you here,” Leon spoke up – so very curiously undisturbed.

“I changed my appearance when I came,” Morgana answered the unspoken question, eyes still boring into Merlin. “Didn’t want to be recognized by _you._ ”

It was Percival who joined in then – much like Leon, strangely calm. “You had your memories all along then? How can that be?”

“I am a high priestess. My ability goes far beyond yours.” Her voice dripped with disdain.

“Yet I bet I could find a way to strike you down in this life,” Elyan said.

“Easy, Elyan,” Leon cautioned. “If she is here, it must be for a purpose.”

Elyan turned on him. “What?”

“She’s helped the queen before, she might do so again – ”

“Helped?”

“At court, she helped to save – ”

Now, he turned on Guinevere. “You befriended her?”

Arthur took a step forward, hand out. “Elyan – ”

“You welcomed her to court?” Gwaine was incensed.

Merlin spat, “What manner of necromancy did you use to return to Camelot?”

“You dare insult me,” Morgana spat back, “when you could not even show your face to me then!”

Elyan demanded, “How was she welcomed back?”

“She was not welcomed,” Percival said, “it’s not like that – ”

“Oh, how is it then?”

“It was complicated – ”

“Well, that’s just lovely,” Gwaine was saying. “You all find a way to be friends again when she tortured me until I died?”

Morgana whirled on him. “And I’ll do it again.”

“Enough!”

The command came from Guinevere.

 And for all the yelling that was done before, it was quiet as a tomb now.

Arthur spun to her; he’d never seen her like this, never heard her raise her voice like that. With her shoulders squared and head held high, eyes focused and full of reprimand, she looked nothing like a scared child.

But it all slowly melted away, until her eyes were wide and her chest was heaving; she threw bewildered glances about the room, and ran for the door.

Arthur went after her. “Guinevere – ”

“That’s not my name!”

It stopped him dead.

“It’s not – ” She was shaking her head, denying it so desperately. “It’s not my name.”

And with that, she was gone.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Someone explain.”

He still had his back to them, still where Guinevere had left him, staring after her.

When none answered his demand, he turned to glare at them over his shoulder. “ _Now._ ”

Percival and Leon exchanged looks, and judging by the latter’s great sigh, it was silently decided the burden would fall on him.

“A year or so after Camlann, Morgana’s help was needed to save Camelot,” he said. “To preserve the queen’s reign.”

Merlin was the first to react; with a scoff. “I’m meant to believe _you_ ” – he turned to Morgana – “wanted to keep Gwen on the throne?”

Morgana returned the scorn in kind. “You’re in no position to talk.” Her face twisted. “When her enemies raised the dead to overthrow her, it _was_ I that helped her defeat them. _You_ were nowhere to be found.”

Silence fell again, until Arthur echoed, “Raised the dead?”

“King Lot used sorcery to bring – an enemy back to life,” it was Leon who answered, clearly choosing his words with care. “The queen had gone to great lengths to unite Albion, but he would not yield. It became clear then that it was because he’d wanted her power to himself.”

“Probably regretted that when he was dying, though,” Percival commented.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

Arthur raised his eyebrows. “Dying?”

“The fool thought he could control him,” Morgana said.

“Control _whom_?”

Her eyes went to him again, mouth pulling at the corner like a blade being drawn. She made to speak, but Leon was faster.

“It’s a long story.”

“I’d like to hear it,” Arthur insisted.

Leon looked uncomfortable. “Honestly, Arthur, I don’t think you do.”

He swallowed. “Right.” He turned to Morgana. “If it was Lot who raised this – enemy, then who was it was it that raised you?”

“What’s that now?” Elyan cut in.

“Merlin had killed her,” Percival supplied, ever-helpful. Arthur wondered how they hadn’t told him of that.

“Way to go, Merlin!” Gwaine praised, clapping him on the shoulder; Merlin’s entire body shook from it.

Arthur ran a hand over his face.

“The Disir,” Morgana spoke. “Gwen bargained with them for help.”

Arthur frowned. “And they sent _you?_ ”

 She glared at him. “Well, they were right to do so, weren’t they?”

“The point is,” Leon intervened again, “she did – help. And I do believe it could be the same now. I’m sure, if the queen could remember,” he added, meeting Arthur’s eyes with meaning, “she would say the same.”

Arthur looked to Merlin; he seemed the furthest thing from convinced.

As did Gwaine and Elyan, exchanging looks that spoke volumes of their mistrust.

Arthur didn’t know what to think.

“Did you take her memories?” he asked.

“I didn’t.” Morgana shook her head. “I don’t know why she doesn’t remember.”

“You seem to know plenty,” Merlin commented.

“Clearly, that is because I actually look beyond the fate of only one man.”

Before Merlin could retort, Arthur spoke up. “What is clear,” he said, “is that something has happened to bring us all back. If you know what it is, Morgana, you need to say it.”

“I don’t.”

“Great, so there’s no point to you, then,” Gwaine concluded. “Someone fetch me a sword.”

“But I do know that Albion must be in great peril,” Morgana went on as if he hadn’t spoken, “if the whole of the round table has returned. Speaking of – are you not missing one?”

“I rather think we have one too many,” Merlin said pointedly while Arthur frowned – and everyone took great care to look anywhere but at him.

“And Albion’s not what it used to be,” Merlin added.

“Come now, Emrys, Albion is not a place,” Morgana mocked. “It is the very spirit of this land. It will last as long as the time of men.”

“That’s funny, coming from you. Considering you only ever tried to destroy it.”

“I did more for it than you.”

“Also, the queen,” Leon interrupted. “Which is why I believe that it is of the utmost importance that she regain her memory.”

Morgana nodded strongly in agreement.

Arthur was suddenly aware, with stark clarity, that he had been dropped into a completely upside-down world.

 

* * *

 

 

 

_Guinevere –_

_That’s not my name!_

Gwen let herself sag against the wall, head hitting the brick. “That’s not my name,” she muttered into the night.

A breeze blew through the street like a whisper in the dark, doing nothing to take her troubles away, and shaking the flyers taped along the wall like leaves.

She turned her head to the one right next to her. _‘Have you seen this man?’_ it read, with the picture of a blond boy below; someone had drawn a moustache on him.

No, she hadn’t seen him. Couldn’t for the life of her tell if she ever had.

How it hadn’t struck her as odd, that she remembered no faces but five – _six_ –, no other person she had ever seen here, she had no idea. Only _they_ stayed in her mind now, crisp and clear, and everyone else was faceless ghosts, only bodies to fill the space.

Reincarnation was a funny business.

“A queen walking alone at night without a guard is asking for trouble.”

So much for a quiet walk to clear her head.

Gwen turned to the voice; below the light of the streetlamp, Morgana seemed almost as an apparition, pale and dark, lips painted red like a smear of blood across her face.

“Good job I’m not a queen, then,” Gwen said.

Morgana nodded to the flyer. “Giving up the crown to go look for the missing?”

“Everyone needs a career change sometimes.”

With a huff that might’ve been a chuckle, Morgana cocked her head. “What do you actually remember of me?”

Gwen shrugged. “Only your name.” She frowned. “And I think I used to bring you flowers.”

At that, Morgana’s expression twisted into something Gwen couldn’t even begin to understand.

“Which is weird,” she added, “because I gather you’re everyone’s enemy.”

“I was,” Morgana allowed. “But not always.”

“Were _we_ friends?”

“Sometimes.”

“Yeah, that clears it up, thanks.”

Morgana stayed quiet for a while, then said, “You cannot deny your past forever _._ ”

When Gwen said nothing, she added, “You should try harder to remember. For your kingdom’s sake.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You’re the queen.”

The breeze blew again, like a whisper in the dark. _By the sacred laws vested in me –_

“ _No_ , I’m not!” she said. “I’m an over-qualified aide who’s putting every last bit of time she has into getting a PhD, so one day I can actually _do_ something, change something, I am not – ”

_–  I crown you Guinevere –_

“I mean, did it ever occur to any one of you that if I can’t remember this, it’s because I’m not supposed to, I don’t want to, because it’s not who I actually am!”

_–  queen of Camelot._

“I am not the queen of Camelot!”

Her chest heaved, breath carrying hard and fast in the night, and tears burning her eyes.

“No, you’re not,” Morgana agreed, calm and unmoving. “You ruled over much more than that.”

“Like _what?_ ”

“Everything.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The time when she would open her door and Arthur wasn’t standing on the other side of it seemed as far away as that of Camelot.

“May I come in?”

Withholding a sigh, she stepped aside.

“I just wanted to see how you were,” he said once she’d closed the door behind him. “You seemed very upset.”

“I’m fine,” she lied.

And he saw right through it. “Really?”

“It’s sweet that you worry about me.” She nodded. “But you don’t have to.”

“Of course I do,” he said immediately. “We’ve no idea what’s going on, Morgana’s here, and you don’t remember anything so you’re in more danger than anyone of us – ”

“No, I’ve no part in this,” she cut in. “Any of it.”

This time when he spoke, it sounded impatient. “Yes, you do. Even if you don’t remember it now, this is your concern, too, and – ”

“My concern” – she pointed to herself – “is the thesis I’m meant to be writing. Not some – faceless threats from times of mythical kingdoms.”

“Gwen – ”

“Look,” she told him, “you can do whatever you want. Take the others and go around fighting – beasts, or witches, or whatever it is, but just leave me out of it.”

“You don’t understand – ”

“No, I do understand,” she said. “I understand you’re telling the truth, that you’re not just some madman who turned up at my door, and I understand you want me to be this person you used to know – ”

“You’re not just a person I used to know, you’re my wife!” he let out. His breathing faltered. “You’re everything to me. And I don’t accept” – he swallowed – “that _that_ will never mean anything to you in this life.”

It froze her in the spot, tears welling. She tried to blink them away.

She wrenched her eyes away from his – so bright and blue and sad. Staring at the wall instead, she said, “Maybe there’s a good reason that I don’t.”

“No,” he didn’t take even a moment to deny it. “No, I don’t believe that – look at me.”

He came right before her, trying to catch her eye; she resolutely looked to the wall, the window, the ground – anywhere but at him.

“Look at me – Guinevere – ”

“It’s not – ” She choked, the sob building in her throat. “It’s not my – ”

“It is,” he said. “It is, and no matter how many times you say it isn’t won’t make it so.”

“Yes, well, no matter how many times you call me your wife won’t make it so either!” she burst out.

He swayed in the spot, his breath catching; he looked like she’d struck him.

He was the one to look away this time.

She gulped, pressing a fist to her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s cruel to say that to you.”

His eyes were wet when he brought them back to hers.

“But I – ” She blew out a stuttering breath. “I’m not her. Whatever she was like, she died a thousand years ago. Just like you. At best, I’ve got the spirit of a dead girl living inside of me that’s going to end up driving me mad, but that’s it, that’s all it is – ”

“No.”

“Stop saying no.”

“ _No,_ ” he said it again. “You told me – last night, you told me – ”

She swallowed.

“That you may not have your memories, but you still felt everything – ”

“Arthur…”

“And before, at the round table – you stood taller than even I ever knew you, as only a true queen would.”

She shook her head as he talked, even if she could almost feel it now, too; the incredible surge that had gone through her, the command that had come out of her, so natural, so like she had issued a thousand grander ones before.

Still, she kept shaking her head, screwing her eyes shut, and the tears ran down her cheeks. She put her arms around herself, clutching her pendant like a lifeline. “You should go.”

“My love – ”

“No, no, don’t call me that, it’s not what I am – ”

“You are!” He sounded desperate, like his life depended on making her believe it. “You are, I – I never loved anyone but you, not once in my entire life, and – you loved me, too.”

“I – ”

“The first time I kissed you, we were in your home and you gave me a token for good luck and, uh – one time, you kissed me in a tent – ” The words were pouring out of him fast now, as if he was putting every memory he had out there, just to jog something in her – just to get her to remember _one._ “You – you took care of my father for me, even when he’d killed yours, you did it for me, and – even when Morgana enchanted you, you came back to me, because you loved me – when I asked you to marry me, you said – ”

“Stop,” she begged.

He did, his breathing shallow.

She shook her head. “Just stop. Alright? Please.”

He inhaled sharply, hanging his head. Eventually, it bobbed up and down in a small nod.

“Alright,” he agreed. Silence stretched between them, with her trying to hold back sniffles and him staring at the ground.

His head came up suddenly, and he squared his shoulders. “Forgive me again,” he said. “That I came on too strongly. It was never my intention to upset you.”

Having nothing to say to that, she just nodded.

“I’ll go now,” Arthur muttered, heading for the door. She heard him turn the knob, pull it open; there, he paused.

“Just tell me one thing,” he asked, their backs to each other. “Is there no part of you that wants to remember?”

Never once turning to look at him, she replied, “I don’t think so.”

The door clacked shut behind him.

Gwen drew an unsteady breath, closing her eyes.

“Well, that’s unfortunate.”

They flew open again.

Morgana smirked. “I was rather hoping we might do this the easier way.”

Her hand struck out, eyes flashing; Gwen didn’t even have time to scream before she was thrown back, hitting the ground, the pendant slipping away from her neck.


	5. Chapter 5

Bent over a new crossword puzzle, Merlin said, “Perhaps you should call Gwen.”

Staring out the window and frowning at the dark clouds outside, Arthur mumbled, “She’s probably at work.”

“Hence, the _calling,_ ” Merlin intoned.

“Wouldn’t even know how to do that.”

“I’ll teach you.”

“What’s the point,” Arthur said, “if she wants nothing to do with me?”

He heard Merlin sigh. “Well, perhaps now that she’s had a night to sleep on it, she’ll see things differently.”

“Perhaps,” Arthur echoed, and sounded like a sullen child even to his own ears.

With another sigh, Merlin made a chair slide back for him. Arthur sat, and a few more muttered words later, tea was pouring into his cup from nowhere.

“There,” Merlin said. “Have some tea.”

Arthur glared at him, and did as he was told.

“I know it’s my own fault,” he spoke after a while. “I pushed her too hard, I shouldn’t have – ” He shook his head.

“You want her to remember you,” Merlin offered. “No one can fault you for that.”

Arthur hummed. “Too bad she doesn’t want the same.”

“Arthur…”

“Maybe Elyan and Percival are right,” he went on. “Maybe she just doesn’t want to remember because she prefers this life.”

“Well, even if that’s true…at least you’ve still got me.”

“That brings me no comfort whatsoever.”

Merlin shrugged. “For what it’s worth,” he said, “my money’s still on sorcery. Especially,” he added gravely, “considering the only person she seems to know is Morgana.”

With a frown, Arthur said, “It doesn’t have to mean anything. You still think there’s something to it?”

“Perhaps,” Merlin allowed. “I suspected she was the reason Gwen’s memories are gone. This only strengthens my belief.”

Arthur licked his lips. “What reason would she have to do it?”

“I don’t know.”

“You heard what the others said though, that she was an ally after her death. So maybe…”

“Don’t tell me you actually trust her?”

“No! Maybe? I don’t know.”

“She’s still _Morgana._ ”

“Well, it – you know what I remember, I remember you saying you blamed yourself for what she’d become.” Arthur pointed a finger at him. “So, shouldn’t _you_ be at least a little glad she seems to have changed?”

“That yesterday seemed like she’d changed to you?” Merlin deadpanned.

“Um, well – she didn’t kill anyone of us.”

“No, just _threatened_ to do it – no, you know, you’re right, she’s _completely_ changed.”

Arthur let out a sigh. “If only Guinevere could” – _wanted to_ – “remember what’d happened between them,” he spoke quietly, “then I’d know what to think.” Swallowing, he added, “That enemy they spoke of, the one she supposedly helped defeat – do you know who it was?”

“No.”

“Right,” he muttered, nodding.

Merlin was quiet for a time, then asked, “You think it was Uther, too, don’t you?”

Arthur looked up, to find sympathy in Merlin’s eyes. “Yeah,” he admitted.

Merlin clucked his tongue. “Can’t ever please the in-laws.”

Despite himself, Arthur gave a smile. “It was just my father.”

“And your sister,” Merlin added. “And your uncle.”

_Ah, yes._ “Well, maybe my mother would’ve liked her.”

“Maybe.”

Speaking to the swirling tea in front of him, Arthur prompted, “But you do think there’s a – _magical_ reason she won’t remember? It’s not that she – ”

The door banged open, Leon rushing through it like a madman. “Sire!”

Arthur was on his feet in an instant.

“It’s the queen,” Leon spoke in a rush, out of breath. “She’s gone.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“I told you not to trust her.”

Arthur felt Merlin’s words like the crack of a whip against his skin where he stood in the middle of Guinevere’s home, clutching her necklace.

There was no sign of struggle but a broken chair, and _it_ – the pendant he’d seen her wear, round as a coin and just as small, hanging from a golden chain, its clasp now broken.

Leon and Percival had said, she _had_ worn it in Camelot, too, for many years.

Now he turned to them, standing together rigidly, worry etched on their faces. “You said,” he told them, “that Morgana was an ally to the queen.”

They looked overburdened with guilt, the both of them, and yet Leon still began, “We don’t know for sure – ”

“Oh, give it up, Leon,” it was Percival who interrupted. “The queen is missing, and so is Morgana. She took her.”

“I know. But I – ”

“We never should have trusted her,” Percival cut in again. “And now she’s made fools of all of us – and God only knows what she intends to do with the queen.”

Leon drew a sharp breath, while Arthur struggled to even get any air in his lungs. He looked to Merlin for reassurance – that they would find her, that they would get her back; that he wouldn’t lose her this way.

“We must work to find where she’s taken her,” Merlin said, and Arthur breathed just a little easier.

“Well, can’t you do something about it?” Elyan asked. “Look to – I don’t know, glean it from somewhere?”

“I’m a sorcerer, Elyan, not a crystal ball.”

Arthur turned to Leon and Percival again. “You saw Morgana after we did. So tell me,” he prompted, “what did she want then?”

“Well,” Leon began carefully, “then, she wanted to stop an attack and restore Gwen to the throne.”

“Obviously a lie,” Merlin condemned.

Leon flinched. “Perhaps,” he allowed. “But I swear, Arthur, she was different. She still hated all of us but Gwen – her, she treated as a friend again.”

“Pretending to be a friend is what she’s always done,” Merlin commented. “How any of you fell for it is beyond me.”

“If she did fool us,” Leon said, “then I have no idea why. I do not see what she could have gained for herself then.”

“So in essence,” Arthur snapped, “you’ve no idea how to help the queen _now._ ”

Leon swallowed, averting his gaze. “No, sire.”

“Alright, let’s go back to where she might’ve taken her,” Elyan proposed. “We’ve searched this place and they’re not here, so that…”

“Leaves the rest of the world?” Gwaine deadpanned, and Elyan sighed.

Suddenly, Leon’s head snapped back up, and he turned to Percival. “She’s a high priestess.”

Percival frowned. “Right, so – ” As if whatever had gotten into Leon went through him, too, he perked up, snapping his fingers. “The weather…”

Leon was nodding. “The tremors…”

“It must be – ”

“Yes.”

“So if we just – ”

They were grinning at each other now, and Arthur felt a lot like murdering the both of them.

“If we just _what?_ ” he demanded, but they were already moving, Percival hovering by as Leon sat at Guinevere’s desk, opening that thing Merlin had said was called a laptop.

Trailing after them, he chastised, “You can’t just make use of her belongings.”

“I think she’ll forgive us for this,” Leon muttered, and Percival clasped his shoulder.

Murderous urges rose in Arthur again. “What are you doing?”

“Google Earth.”

Arthur closed his eyes, and prayed for patience.

“And what are you looking for?” Gwaine asked.

“The Isle of the Blessed.”

His eyes snapped open. “Say that again?”

Percival turned to him with a grin. “It all makes sense. The bad weather, the strange tremors – it’s happened before. When the Isle of the Blessed sank into the sea.”

“When it _what?_ ”

“Morgana was the last priestess,” Leon supplied, not once looking over his shoulder. “With her death, the isle sank below the water. But now she’s here and it’s all happening again so – ”

“It must mean the isle has risen again,” Percival concluded.

“And it must be,” Merlin followed that thought, “where she’s taken Gwen.”

Percival grinned again, nodding, and hope spread within Arthur.

“Right, so, you’re looking for it now?” he asked with urgency, trying to catch a look over Leon’s shoulder.

“Yes,” he said. “Alright let’s see. If where we are is Camelot, and the isle was two days’ ride away – cutting down resting for the night and feeding the horses, that makes it about a day and half, so if we set a perimeter along that distance – now, a horse’s speed would’ve been – ”

“Do the math in your head,” Percival instructed.

He did, evidently, mumbling under his breath, hitting a few things with his fingers, and Arthur watched the image before him move, as if by magic, until –

“There,” Leon let out triumphantly, pointing to – a big white blob.

“It must be fog that hides it,” Percival said before Arthur could comment. “But here – zoom in, Leon.”

The image moved again, as if closing in, and right there, in the center of the white blob, Arthur saw it. He clapped Leon’s other shoulder, praising, “Good man.”

“Let’s go then,” he ordered next, already moving to fetch his sword. “We’ve no time to waste.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Gwen opened her eyes to grey skies, clouds gathering above her to hide the sun.

She sat up with a gasp, and nearly lost her balance; rope chaffed against her wrists, cold hard stone keeping her above the ground.

She looked around frantically, her vision blurred – more stone, old and dirty, stacked into crumbling walls, was everywhere, growing weeds and steeped in thick, white fog.

Shivering, she twisted on the block – _the altar_ –, wildly searching, looking for –

“Morgana.”

She was stood ways down from her, shrouded in the mist – but even with that, even with her sight thrown off, she didn’t _look_ right.

“Not quite,” she said, turning.

Gwen gasped again, her heart beating out of her chest.

She came forward slowly, dress as red as blood dragging on the ground, blonde hair falling to her waist.

“My name is Morgause.”

“What – what are you doing here?” Gwen gulped. “Where’s Morgana?”

Morgause tipped her head, raising an eyebrow.

“It was you all along,” Gwen realized. “Morgana was never here.”

Her heart was oddly hollow for it.

“No,” Morgause said. “But she will be. She’s been kept from me for a long time, and I don’t know why, but I will return her to this world. To me.”

Gwen frowned, looking around again – this place, these ruins, she knew them –

And then her eyes settled on two figures by the far wall. One, slumped over on the ground, blonde hair sticking out every which way – _the missing boy_ , she realized –, and the other, chained, a bag over his head. But from his shoulders to his waist, he was clad in armor, his red cloak falling to the ground. _A knight._

When she looked back to Morgause, she was smiling – in her long red dress, dotted with silver, sparkling even in the absence of sunlight.

“This place holds many wonders,” Morgause spoke. “Its magic cannot be fooled by appearance. In this new time, it reveals our true selves.”

Gwen looked down to herself; she still wore her clothes from last night.

“But not yours, it seems,” Morgause went on, as if she had understood perfectly.

Biting into her lip, Gwen tried to stop from shivering. Her voice only barely shook as she demanded, “What do you want with me then?”

“Your memories.”

Gwen stilled.

“But you won’t remember anything.” Morgause’s mouth turned down in a frown. “So I must do this instead.”

“Do _what?_ ”

With a smirk, Morgause began circling her. “I broke into this world of my own power,” she said. “The gates of the spirit world are impregnable, but Samhain is upon us, and the veil between the worlds is thinner. And besides” – she threw a glance over her shoulder – “if you run at any door long enough, eventually it will yield.”

“This island,” she went on, voice growing softer, “rose with me. And now that I’m here…” She finally ended her circle, stopping right in front of her. “I will restore it to its former glory. But first, I must return my sister to it.”

“You – you can’t be serious,” Gwen let out feebly.

Morgause raised her chin. “The Old Religion will reign once more,” she declared. “If not in the time of Camelot, then in this one. And for that, I must raise Morgana. Unfortunately, since you cannot _tell me_ where to find what I need for it…” She smiled again. “I must settle for your life instead.”

The man against the wall rattled his chains.

Gwen stared. “My life?”

“For a life there must be a death, the balance of the world must be restored,” Morgause said, like reciting the words of a poem. “I will use that boy to tear the veil between the worlds.” She nodded to the wall. “Then I will bargain with the Cailleach and offer her a life in exchange for my sister’s. Him” – her eyes slipped to the chained man – “I will use to close the veil once it is done. But I can’t just offer any bargain. It must be worthy of what I’m asking for.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem, though,” she added, reaching out.

Gwen shrunk back, but she took her by the chin, keeping her in place.

“The highest power this land has ever known,” Morgause said, studying her. “You should do nicely.”

With her heart pounding in her ears, Gwen threw another glance to the knight.

“Oh, but I forget,” Morgause suddenly let out. “You can’t guess who he is.”

_Yes, I can._

Hand balled into a fist, Morgause pulled on air.

The chains broke and the man stumbled forward, dragged by invisible strings, until he fell to his knees before the altar.

The bag flew from his face, and Gwen’s heart stopped.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“My God.”

Arthur stopped the same as Leon, in awe and horror.

Across the water, the Isle of the Blessed stood the same as he had once known it, terrible ruins against the night sky, shrouded in mist.

Tearing his eyes away, he turned to Merlin. “We must find a way to go across. Can you conjure a boat or some – ”

“Arthur.”

It was Elyan who spoke, eyes wide as he stared past him.

He turned to the water again, where it touched the shore in the distance; there stood a small dock, just as he remembered it, with a boat and a cloaked man standing next to it.

“Are we sure we haven’t _literally_ gone back in time?” Gwaine queried.

“Pretty sure,” Arthur mumbled, but understood the feeling perfectly. “Come on.” He signaled for the men to follow. “We must – ”

“It’s too late.”

Arthur stopped dead, spinning back around.

Merlin was shaking, like he was cold, like he could collapse any moment, staring into something Arthur could not see.

“She’s torn the veil between the worlds,” he said, and Arthur’s heart seized so badly he couldn’t breathe.

To tear the veil requires a –

_No._

Elyan put a hand to his mouth, Leon stumbled back, held up by Percival; Gwaine bowed his head.

Arthur shook his. “It doesn’t mean it’s – Guinevere,” he argued. “She could’ve – it’s not Guinevere.”

He looked around to all of them, the fear they showed, and denied it again. “It’s not Guinevere.”

_It can’t be._

“Come on,” he ordered with force, swearing to drag them all along if he had to. “We must hurry.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“We must hurry!”

He dragged her by the hand, as she stumbled behind to keep up with his strides.

They ran like mad, over loose stone and slippery steps, though Gwen thought there was no speed that would ever get them out of there before Morgause woke.

It had happened so fast – and yet as if in slow motion; one moment it was her upon the altar, and then it was the boy, falling on it like a ragdoll. Morgause had woken him with a brush of her fingers against his cheek, such a sharp contrast to the dagger she held above his heart. Gwen screamed when it came down, before the boy could even get a chance to speak, Morgause chanting all the while.

It still lingered on her, that terrible rip, as it the air itself was split apart, when the veil between the worlds was torn.

Such a force had been unleashed that they had all been thrown back but, perhaps by a stroke of luck, it was only Morgause that got knocked out.

Then he had cut through her binds with a blade she had not even seen, grabbed her hand, yelling that they had to go, pulling her with him; Gwen only had one chance to look back, to the looming black portal and the woman who stood before it, ancient and grey and terrifying.

And then she was running.

“I can’t – ” She gasped, stumbling back. “I can’t go on – I need – a moment – ”

He still held her hand. “We can’t linger. She’ll wake any second.”

“Have you – ever tried to run – in heels?” she panted.

A small chuckle came out of him, but he grew serious again in an instant. “You go on, then,” he said. “I’ll hold her back.”

_No –_ She shook her head. “I can’t leave you here.”

“And I can’t let her harm you,” he declared. “You must know that.”

He smiled now, slow and soft.

“My name is Lancelot.”

Her heart stopped again.

“Do you not remember me at all?”

She made to say something but nothing came, her throat too tight to speak.

After a moment, he shook his head. “Doesn’t matter,” he said. “We must go.”

She let herself be pulled again, trotting behind, tears burning in her eyes.

They wandered aimlessly, down one corridor then another, the fog making it hard to tell if they moved at all or just went around in circles.

“Do you actually know where we’re going?” she asked.

“Not really,” he admitted.

Lump rising in her throat, she prompted, “But you’ve been here the entire time?”

“Yes,” he said, then added, “Morgause took me just as I was making my way to you. Brought me here. But I had a bag over my head and chains around my wrists, so…”

“Right.”

“Don’t feel bad.” He glanced over to her. “I’m sure you were looking for me.”

“Um…”

“Well, you wouldn’t,” he amended. “If what Morgause says is true, you don’t remember anything at all about me. The others, though, do they remember?”

“Yes.”

He nodded. “I’d seen them, before – seen _you_ ” – that bit, he spoke with particular care – “and when my memories of Camelot came back, it all suddenly made sense. Morgause said…that it’s because Arthur has returned.”

“He has.”

“Good. Then he will not be far now.”

“I don’t think he knows where we are.”

“He’ll figure it out. If not him, then Merlin. Or my brothers – do you know I envy them a bit?” he added lightly after a moment. 

“What for?”

He gave a shrug. “I know you were queen,” he said. “Morgause said so, and even if she hadn’t, I always knew you were destined for it.” He looked to her again, smiling softly. “I envy that that they all must at least hold at least some image of you as such. I have none.”

She bit into her lip, and tried not to cry.

“Would’ve loved nothing more,” he went on quietly, “than to have seen it myself.”

Oh, God help her.

“What, uh – what’s the last thing you do remember?” she asked.

“I…” He shrugged again. “Walked through the veil between the worlds.”

 “Lancelot – ”

She almost yelped when he suddenly pushed her back against a wall, just short of them rounding a corner; he pressed a finger to his lips.

“What is it?” she mouthed.

He titled his head, nodding to the hallway they had just meant to take. _Someone’s coming._

Silently indicating she stay where she was, he kept his weapon up, carefully moving forward; Gwen held her breath.

After a beat, then two, Lancelot jumped out from around the corner, swinging his sword.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

His blade came upon another, and for the longest of moments, Arthur stood completely frozen.

Then, as if the blow had truly come, he stumbled back, no air left in his lungs.

_Lancelot._

Brightly, as if they were friends, he grinned at him, then turned his head and spoke to someone at his side, “It’s alright. It’s Arthur.”

Guinevere appeared next to him, stumbling a step, and he could breathe again, sighing in relief. Even so, the sight of her crushed a hope he had so eagerly clung to.

He was dressed in his armor, as were the men, even – even Lancelot, just as Merlin wore long, red robes from a time long gone. When they had crossed to the isle and their clothes had begun changing, transforming into what they once were, he had – beneath the worry, beneath the urgency – hoped so dearly that the next time he saw Guinevere, she would be queen. But she still wore the same clothes he had last seen her in.

Still, he knew of nothing – not disappointment, not Lancelot, not another thing in the world but her, chest rising and falling, blessedly alive.

He wanted to reach for her, pull her close, take her with him – _come here, my love,_ he thought, _come here to me_ – but Elyan was screaming, “Run!”

Arthur barely caught a glance of another face even he had not seen in years before the ground shook beneath them.

Lancelot pushed Guinevere forward and Arthur grabbed for her, pulling her with him. The blasts and crumbling walls followed them as they ran, and he wanted to yell at Merlin to stop returning the attack, that he was only making it worse, but he had no time – and Merlin probably wouldn’t listen. The damned, unthinking fool planted himself in the spot behind them, chanting in voice like thunder and cracking the ground beneath their feet; Lancelot pulled him back by his robes to keep him from falling when the floor caved, but in the tremors, the shaking, Guinevere slipped from his grasp.

He watched as she fell back, eyes wide and mouth opening in a scream no one heard.

Without even thinking, Arthur jumped after her.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Guinevere flew from the ground, gasping for air.

“Shh, it’s alright,” Arthur soothed, hands on her arms. “It’s alright, you’re safe.”

Her eyes skipped around the place sightlessly, until finally, they settled on him; her mouth parted but no sound left it.

Arthur let his hands fall away. “We fell,” he said, looking up where the floor – the ceiling, used to be. Now it merely offered a view all the way to the skies above. “You hit your head,” he added, chest tightening as he eyed the slight gash on her forehead; it must have only been minutes, but he felt as though he’d waited hours for her to wake.

Gingerly, she sat up, her eyes never leaving him. “I remember,” she said softly.

He nodded, swallowing. “I’m sorry.”

She tilted her head. “What for?”

“I made the mistake of trusting Morgana. Merlin warned and yet I – and now Morgause is here, too, and – ”

“It’s just Morgause,” Guinevere cut in quietly.

He frowned. “What?”

Almost sadly, she told him, “Morgana was never here.” She sighed. “It was only Morgause, pretending to be her.”

_Oh._

Still – “That changes very little.”

“Perhaps,” she allowed, and said nothing else. But her eyes were still unwaveringly on his, and slowly, they filled with tears.

“Don’t be frightened,” he immediately made to comfort her. “No harm will come to you, I promise. I won’t let it.” His hand went to cover hers without thought. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Her breath coming out in a stutter, she looked down to their hands; Arthur closed his eyes, and pulled his away.

“Um…” He cleared his throat. “Did, uh – did Morgause say why she took you?”

With an odd lilt to her voice, Guinevere said, “She wanted my memories.”

Arthur felt like laughing at that one. He and the witch had something in common, then. “What for?”

She gave a small shrug. “She wants to bring back the Old Religion. Starting with Morgana.”

Frowning, Arthur let out, “How would that even work?”

Guinevere shifted. “Something in my memories would serve that purpose. But in the absence of them…she tore the veil.” She gulped. “Using that boy. She killed him right in front of me.”

He had no idea who this boy was, but he desperately wanted to reach for her again. Instead, he only said, “I’m sorry.”

She nodded, blinking back tears.

Arthur looked to the skies again. “Then what?”

“She bargains with the Cailleach. My life for Morgana’s.”

“It’s a plan, I suppose,” Arthur allowed. “So, uh – what was her first one, then?”

Guinevere raised an eyebrow, her mouth twitching like she might give an incredulous smile.

“Right,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You’d need your memories to actually answer that.”

He turned away, rising to his feet, before he could see what look it would bring to her face.

“Arthur…”

“We must return to the others,” he pretended he hadn’t heard, keeping his back to her. They could not return the way they came, and around them was thick, solid stone he could not fathom breaking through; only on one side was there rumble, rocks piled up from the cave-in, that he had some hope of moving.

Feeling around with his hands, trying to find a fault line, he went on, “If they escaped Morgause, they’re probably searching for us, too. Merlin, and the knights, and…Lancelot.”

The name still burned on his tongue.

“So, he’s back, too.” He gritted his teeth. “Can’t imagine why.”

“He was a knight.”

“He was a bit more than that, I think,” Arthur muttered darkly.

Guinevere said nothing, and he bit back a sigh.

“Sorry.” He shook his head. “It was…a long time ago and – ” _You don’t remember it anyway._

She gave no counter but he heard the rustling of her getting to her feet behind him. Even then when she spoke, it was only to ask, “After we find the others, then what?”

He still felt around the rocks aimlessly. “We find a way to kill Morgause.”

“And then?”

He stopped.

He hadn’t given himself time to think about it, but now it came down upon him like the weight of a thousand stones; he hung his head.

“We must repair the veil between the worlds,” he said it, knowing it had to be done; and exactly how.

Guinevere drew a sharp breath.

He finally turned to her again and thought, for the first and only time, that it might be better this way; that she ought to never remember.

Despite it, he offered her a smile. “But have no fear,” he reassured. “All will be well.”

Looking at him softly, with her mouth pulling at the corner, she said, “You’re a terrible liar.”

She was so beautiful. Even tired and haggard, in dirtied clothes, with glassy eyes and hair full of dust. He longed for her so.

“I’ll grant you that,” he conceded, taking a step closer.

He hated most of all to have to say goodbye.

Most of all to her.

“But you will be safe,” he promised. “I give you my word on it. This will be over soon.” He smiled down at her. “And you can go back to, uh, finishing your thesis.”

She smiled, too, and the tears in her eyes grew heavier. “Did I ever tell you what it’s about?”

“Mm-mm.”

Her smile slowly turned into a grin, and it brought the sun itself into the cold, dank place. “Women politicians in history.”

Though his heart was breaking, he laughed. “Ah, well, then it will clearly be all rubbish – ”

She gasped.

“ – if you got it from those books of yours.” Smiling, even as his throat got tighter, he added, “Never did you any justice.”

Her tears spilled over, running down her cheeks.

Arthur bent to kiss them away.

She shook from trying to hold her sobs, with his lips ever-so-softly picking up the salt from her cheek. He stayed that way, so close to her, his hands rising to gently hold her arms.

In a moment of weakness, he begged, thick and quiet, “Please remember me.”

She sobbed in earnest now, gulping in air. “I – ”

_“Arthur!”_

Guinevere jumped back, yelping.

Arthur bit back a curse, closed his eyes to stave off his tears, and yelled back, “Took you long enough!”

He was pretty sure he heard Merlin grumble from the other side. And then, louder, _“Hold on, I’ll get these out of the way!”_

“Maybe _we_ should get out of the way,” Guinevere suggested, eyeing the rocks with apprehension. Wholeheartedly agreeing, Arthur pulled her with him to the far wall.

When the rocks shattered, he brought his arms around shield her, taking his last chance to hold her so.

The dust settled and he had to let her go, turning to the others.

Merlin stood before them all, and Arthur thought he looked mighty this way, surrounded by brave and proud men.

Leon’s eyes immediately went to Guinevere. “My lady, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she said, standing tall as she wiped the tears from her cheeks.

She stepped forward and four hands came through the wall to help her step over the debris.

As he climbed through himself, Arthur asked, “Where is she?”

“About two floors up from where we are, last we saw,” Percival informed.

“We must be careful, though,” Gwaine cautioned. “She knows this place far better than we do.”

Arthur nodded, turning to Guinevere. “You have to get out of here.”

“What – no – ”

“Elyan, go with her,” he ordered. “Get her to safety.”

“No,” Guinevere protested, stepping up to him. “I’m not leaving you all here.”

Arthur looked at her steadily. “I gave you my word that you would be safe,” he said. “And I intend to keep it. We’ll deal with Morgause.”

“ _How_ are you going to deal with Morgause?”

“Well, I’ve got him” – he stuck his thumb out over his shoulder, to Merlin – “and…a blade forged in a dragon’s breath, evidently. It’ll be fine.”

She was giving him a look he couldn’t for the life of him place, and said, “That’s not a plan.”

“It’ll come to me,” he assured, and almost believed it himself. “And I will think much more clearly,” he added heavily, “if I know you are safe from harm.”

Her gaze softened, though she still seemed torn.

“Don’t worry.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “You’ll see me again,” he lied.

She drew a sharp breath but nodded, acquiescing. He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, and stepped back.

He nodded to Elyan. “Go.”

Not quite bearing to look at him as he said it, he further ordered, “Lancelot, you go with them.”

Everyone stilled – save for Lancelot, who did not wait a beat, not a moment, to comply. If he found anything odd, he made no comment on it.

Then Elyan took Guinevere’s hand, taking her with them, until she disappeared entirely from his sight.

He closed his eyes, blowing out a breath, and turned again to the others. “Let’s go.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Camelot**

_Long live the king._

It still echoed in his head while he stood alone in his chambers, turning his new crown over in his hands.

He had no idea how he could even stand upright from the grief he felt, but when a knock came and the doors opened to show Guinevere, his chest felt just a little lighter.

Sweetly, she asked, “How are you feeling?”

He held up his crown. “I’m the king.”

She rubbed her lips together, nodding. “Everyone’s really looking forward to the feast tonight,” she said, coming closer. “To have a chance to show you how happy they are to have you as their king.”

Arthur closed his eyes. “Gwaine’s going to sing, isn’t he?”

“I can talk him out of it,” Guinevere offered, and he heard the smile in her voice. Then felt her hand on his.

Finally, he opened his eyes, to find her watching him closely.

“Well, I suppose…if they are going to give me great welcome, I must give them a great speech in return.”

She smiled faintly. “Have you not been working on it?”

Oh, he had. It sat on his desk, all written, and heartfelt and beautiful and grand, and he could not make a single word of it enter his head.

He sighed, tossing the crown on the table.

Guinevere slid up closer to him. “What is it?”

What was it – well, what it was is that – “My father’s dead.”

Her chest rose and fell deeply, eyes full of sympathy. “I know,” she said quietly, and he loved her all the more for it.

 _It’s my fault,_ got stuck halfway up his throat, and he couldn’t bring himself to say it. He knew she would deny it, tell him it wasn’t, and he wanted it – he so desperately wanted her to tell him he’d done what he thought was right, that he’d done the best he could, and yet he wouldn’t bear to hear her say it either.

So instead, he took her hands in his. “I wanted to thank you again,” he told her, “for taking care of him this past year, and…and these past few days.” He swallowed. “I hope you know how much I appreciate it.”

She acknowledged the thanks with a nod, the _‘I did it for you’_ remaining unspoken.

“You know,” he went on, “now that I am king, things, um…will be different.”

She smiled again, wider. “I am rather looking forward to it.”

Despite it all, he couldn’t help but smile himself. “I’ll have more duties, more responsibilities, especially in the start.” With regret, he added, “I may not see you as much.”

Steadily, she only said, “I understand.”

He almost proposed marriage to her right then and there.

Which of course would have been a terrible idea and the fact that he’d even entertained it made him question all the decisions of his reign before it had even begun.

_Someday, though…_

With a quiet sigh, Guinevere took one of his hands in both of hers, folding it against her chest, brushing a kiss against his knuckles. “I know you grieve,” she said. “That perhaps, the future seems as bleak to you now as the present does. But it will pass. And you will be a great king.” She nodded slowly, with all the confidence of the world. “I know you will.”

He allowed himself a moment of weakness, just one; just with her. “I’m not ready.”

She squeezed his hand. “I don’t think anyone ever is,” she comforted. “It doesn’t mean you won’t be great at it.”

It did bring him comfort – small though as it was. “Well, I do love Camelot,” he allowed. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for it.” _Or you._

“I know.” She smiled. “Which is why it will be lucky to have you.”

He kissed her, thinking about _someday,_ about things settling and the dreams he had for this place, about peace and Albion and Guinevere with a crown, taking her rightful place beside him, and the land they could rule together.

(After, while Merlin dragged him as a dead weight across the land, for a healing that would never come, he thought that they should have just become farmers.)

Against his lips, Guinevere whispered, “Long live the king.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Run!”

Arthur held to his blade tightly, slipping over the stones. It was hell like he had never seen, the world falling apart around him and at the center of it, Merlin and Morgause, conjuring pillars of fire and hurricane winds, shattering each other’s creations with cries spoken in the old tongue, sending everything around them flying.

Including the knights.

They’d lost Percival behind another falling ceiling two chambers back, Leon to a gust a wind that had sent him over into the water, and now Gwaine lay unconscious by a wall.

But Arthur held to his sword – if he could just get close enough to Morgause to strike her – just one blow –

“A thousand years to hone your skills, Emrys,” Morgause taunted, “and you are still no match for me.”

“Do you forget that it was I who condemned you to death in the first place?” Merlin returned in a roar that sent chills down Arthur’s spine.

Morgause’s eyes flashed. “You condemned my entire kind.”

Merlin spread his arms out, lifting a dozen stones to float in the air around him. “And I’ll do it again.”

He hurled them towards her and she shattered them, one by one, a cloud of dust rising around her; Arthur saw his chance, his one moment of opportunity. He ran, blade held high, and struck.

It cut her down her back.

She cried out, arching back. Then it was she who swung, but needed no blade to throw him back crashing to the ground.

He gasped in pain, rolling over to his elbows.

With wide, wild eyes, she looked from him to Merlin, then his sword, blood dripping to stain the ground at her feet.

A devil’s look on her face, she chanted again, but now the air whirled around her, taking everything with it. “This is not over,” she vowed, and disappeared with the wind.

Everything was quiet.

Until Merlin said, “Could’ve struck her harder.”

Grunting, Arthur stumbled to his feet. “I’ll try next time.”

He went over to pick up his blade, sliding it back into its scabbard. “What did she mean,” he prompted, “about you condemning her entire kind?”

Merlin scratched the back of his head. “It may have been my hand that, effectively, ended the order of the high priestesses.”

“All of them?”

“Well, three. But they were the last ones, so…”

Arthur gulped. “Right.”

“It was to protect you. To protect Camelot.”

“I know,” he said, and started walking away. “Come on. We’ve still got the veil to deal with.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Gwen – ”

“Shh, don’t strain yourself,” she told him gently, a hand on his shoulder to keep him from rising.

But Gwaine still struggled. “What are you – doing here? Arthur said to go.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Just because he’s the once and future king doesn’t mean I’ve got to do everything he tells me to.”

Gwaine huffed a chuckle. “Always liked you, Gwen,” he said, then strained again. “The others – ”

“They’re fine,” she assured. “Lancelot’s digging Percival out, and Elyan’s got Leon out of the water. They’ll be alright.”

“Mm,” Gwaine acknowledged, face twisting.

“Arthur and Merlin?” she asked.

“They’ve – _ah_ – they’ve gone through, I think, back to the veil.”

She nodded. “Thank you.”

Helping him sit up against the wall with care, she said, “Stay here. The others will find you.”

“The others – wait, where are _you_ going?”

She got to her feet.

“Gwen, wait…”

“Don’t worry.” She smiled back at him. “It’ll be fine,” she promised, and walked on.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

They walked in silence, Arthur first, until they came upon it; it was the same as he remembered it, with the Cailleach guarding it, staff in hand, her white hair rising and falling with the wind. He couldn’t believe he had waited a thousand years and five hundred more just to be back here again.

“I want you to swear to me this time, Merlin,” he spoke. “That you will look after Guinevere.”

“No.”

He whirled around. “ _No?_ ”

“No,” Merlin repeated. “Because this time, I _will_ take your place.”

Arthur huffed. “We’ve had this argument before.”

“How little things change.”

“Merlin…”

“I know you think this is _your_ duty,” Merlin said. “But it is mine to protect you. And I’ve been on this earth for well over a thousand years, Arthur.”

“Yes, well, so have I.”

“You’ve barely lived one lifetime. I’ve lived dozens.” He nodded. “I think it’s my time now.”

His eyes suddenly burning, Arthur blew out a breath. “What am I going to do without you, Merlin?” he asked. “I can’t stand up to Morgause without your power.”

“You’ve got a blade forged in a dragon’s breath. You’ll be fine.”

“That was just talk.”

“It’s all you’ll need,” Merlin assured. “Do me a favor though, will you? Return it to Freya once you’re done. It’s safest with her.”

He had no idea how to do that.

Still, for Merlin’s sake, he nodded. Swallowing, he said, “I’ll miss you, old friend.”

“One day, we’ll meet again.” Beneath his beard, Merlin smiled, and nodded to the veil. “Over there.”

Arthur hugged him, and stifled his tears. “Until then.”

“Until then,” Merlin echoed. Arthur clasped his arm, like he would a knight’s, and let him pass.

He turned to watch him go.

“Emrys,” the Cailleach greeted.

He faced her, as ancient a relic of the old region as she. “It seems my time among men is finally over,” he said.

She laughed raucously. “Your memory serves you well.”

“I do marvel at it.”

This, it seemed, she did not find as funny. “But you forget,” she said, “that fate is a circle.”

“What does that – ”

Arthur brought the hilt of his sword down, and Merlin fell like a sack of grain.

Drawing a heavy breath, he knelt beside him, and put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but this _is_ my duty.”

 _Do you still want the job?_ Guinevere had asked. He didn’t, not really. But it was still his to do.

So he stood to take Merlin’s place, coming before the Cailleach.

“Arthur Pendragon.”

He squared his shoulders.

“Back again so soon?”

“It’s been over a thousand years,” he said.

“It was yesterday.”

“Feels that way,” he agreed. “So I still remember your price.” He faced her again. “And I am willing to pay it. If you end this, I will walk through the veil.”

Still, part of him wondered what it was like – did he stand a chance at all? Was it she who decided his fate or would he be granted to chance to fight for his life?

What had it been like for Lancelot?

But the Cailleach was shaking her head, a smirk at the corner of her mouth. “There’s no such thing as walking _through_ the veil.”

“Huh, well…” He looked around. “I’ve got a failed attempt at marriage that says otherwise.”

“You were deceived.”

He frowned. _What does that mean?_

“These are the gates to the spirit world,” the Cailleach told him. “Once you step into it, you will not come out.”

Then how did –

_Doesn’t matter._

“Then so be it.”

She smiled and moved aside, spreading a hand out to the darkness.

Arthur steeled himself.

He thought of his father, his mother – his uncle, even, of Mordred and Morgana. Then of the knights, and Merlin – of Guinevere, and when he would see her again.

 _One day,_ he thought, moving forward.

And everything went dark.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Gwen dropped the stick from her hand.

She knelt down next to Arthur, and gently rolled him over to his back.

She brushed his hair back, running her thumb over his cheek.

“Until I see you again,” she whispered and bent to kiss him, a sweet and gentle pass of her lips over his.

She committed his face to memory one last time, before lifting her eyes to the Cailleach, and beyond her, the awaiting gates to the spirit world.

With a deep breath, she rose.

“This, I did not foresee.”

She came closer, facing the gatekeeper.

“Guinevere Pendragon,” the Cailleach spoke again. “Will it really be _you_ that pays my price?”

“It will.”

She smiled, her wrinkles creasing.

“Then come, child,” she beckoned. “Return to my world.”

As a warm breeze swept over her, Gwen closed her eyes.

As blood from an open wound, red stained her blouse, spreading, dripping down her arms like wax from a candle until her sleeves brushed the ground, down her chest and stomach; it weaved and flew around her legs like paint until her skirt touched the stone. Until it turned to gold, spinning a web over the silks; until the ends of her hair fell to her waist, and the familiar weight of the crown settled on her head.

“Gwen?”

Merlin was calling to her.

“Gwen, what are you doing?”

She glanced over her shoulder to him, half-propped on the ground, eyes wide.

“I am the high queen of Albion, Merlin,” she said. “You’ve never seen it.”

She turned back around. “Tell Arthur I’m sorry,” she added. “But this solemn duty falls to me.”

Eyes straight ahead and with her head held high, Guinevere stepped forward.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**Camelot**

She walked down the center of the room, her silks of her skirt dragging on the ground.

Knights, and lords, and ladies, and courtiers stood on each side, bowing as she passed, the sun shining down on their heads and the gold of her dress, casting a dance of lights in her way.

 _Every change of station needs a change of dress,_ they said, but what did one do, to make dresses for a station no one had ever held before?

Queen Mithian had offered Nemeth’s most prized silks for the cause, Queen Elena her best royal seamstress; Queen Annis had given the gold for her new crown, and Sir Leon had gone on a quest to find the jewels for it.

It was Mithian who had first stood from the round table, at the meeting of the kings and queens, to say that she would willingly bow to her, follow her orders, trust her to keep Albion at peace; make her the highmost power in the land. And one by one, the others had followed – even Vivian, even Odin – to say, _“And I.”_

So now, a year later, she knelt on the steps before Geoffrey of Monmouth, and bowed her head.

“Will you solemnly swear and promise,” he spoke, “to govern the peoples of Albion according to their respective laws and customs?”

“I solemnly swear so to do,” she vowed.

“Will you to your power, impose law and justice and mercy to be executed in all of your judgements?”

“I will.”

“Do you accept, to treat the five kingdoms as one, to enact wisdom in all your decisions and always look to the benefit of all?”

“I do.”

“Then by the sacred laws vested in me,” Geoffrey declared, “I pronounce you Guinevere, high queen of Albion.”

And with that, the new crown came to rest on her head.

Leon stepped forward, offering his hand. She took it and rose, lifting her skirts as she went; they swayed when she turned, to sit down upon her throne.

“All hail,” Leon now announced, “Guinevere of the house of Pendragon, queen of Camelot, and high queen of Albion. Long live the queen!”

“Long live the queen!”

It erupted as a song, sweeping from the first row to the last, bouncing off the walls.

Leon was loudest in her ear, just by her side, and Percival, behind him. In the front row, held upright by two knights, voice frail and cracking, so was Gaius.

(Later, on his deathbed, he would say that it must be that fate had been kind, to have let him live just long enough; just enough to see this moment.)

 (Much later still, on hers, with Leon and Percival kneeling at her sides and drawing their last breaths, she would remember it, too, and think of Arthur.)

Now, she thought that she would give her life for this land, to watch it grow and prosper; that she had been taught duty by the very best, and that she would never, not in a thousand years, forget what she had vowed to do.

“Long live the queen!”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Gwen! Stop – Gwen, no! Gwen!”

Merlin still yelled behind her but she barely heard him, the whipping of the wind drowning his voice.

She dragged the silks of her skirt on the ground, and thought that Albion was not a place, not a memory, but the very spirit of this land, that it lived inside of her even when she did not know it; that she had come into this life fully formed, with thoughts and dreams of round tables and great golden dragons.

“What are you doing, Gwen – don’t!”

She walked, until she could nearly see the spirits beyond, could nearly hear their screams in her ear, watching the Cailleach’s crooked finger call her closer, and closer, and –

“Guinevere!”

It carried over the wind, over the screams, and again, cracking like thunder. “GUINEVERE!”

Tears spilled down her cheeks but she didn’t stop, pressed forward, even as she swore his feet shook the ground like those of a giant as he ran towards her, to grab her, pull her back –

She picked up her pace but he was close; she saw the spirits in front of her and felt his hand just by her, just barely brushing –

With a force that gripped her entire body, she was thrown back, flying through the air. She screamed, landing by the altar again, Arthur crashing heavily next to her. The crown fell from her head, clattering down and rolling away.

She sat up, uncomprehending, scrambling to her feet, only to truly feel Arthur’s hands now, turning her to him, holding onto her arms.

“You can’t do this,” he said, ragged and raw, looking at with such fear, such great panic, but then with wonder; taking in her dress, her hair, the crown that had fallen from her. He gripped her tighter.

Breathing heavily, she put her hands on his arms, and pushed back. “Let me go,” she told him, her voice breaking.

He held fast.

“Arthur –  ”

“No.”

She struggled, tears streaming down her face. “It’s my – ”

“No, no, you won’t do this,” he refused, shaking his head. “I won’t let you – ”

He suddenly stopped, looking past her, his features going slack.

Guinevere broke away, panting, and spun around.

There, right before the portal, stood Lancelot.

“No…”

He was looking over his shoulder, cloak billowing in the wind. His eyes went over her, from the hem of her skirt to the top of her head, like it was all he’d ever wanted to see. He smiled widely, and inclined his head to her, nodding.

Then, he faced the spirits, spreading his arms, stepping forward.

And he was gone.

“No!” She went after him, screaming, but it was lost in the crack of the collapsing veil.

And then there was nothing.

No wind, no portal, no sound but that of her broken breathing. “No,” she whispered. _Not again._

She looked back; to Arthur, standing right where she left him – Merlin, leaning against the altar, face wet with tears. And behind them, the others, bruised and battered, frozen in place.

She closed her eyes, hanging her head.

Fate was a circle.


	7. Chapter 7

She hadn’t spoken a word to him since the Isle of the Blessed.

She’d been silent when they’d crossed back over the threshold, their clothes returning to what they were in this life; when they rode back, in those cars Merlin had conjured, only staring out the window, watching dawn break.

Now, in Merlin’s home, she sat silently, too.

As did all the others, heads bowed low, staring into their glasses.

Only Merlin met his eyes, sad and sorrowful.

Arthur cleared his throat. “We should, uh, say a few words. For Lancelot. Um – Guinevere?”

Seated on a chair Leon had pulled out for specially, hands folded in her lap, she only turned her eyes to him for the briefest of moments before they went to Merlin. When she spoke, it was to ask, “Why did you let him do it?”

Merlin stilled.

“You stopped Arthur,” she said. “And me. Why not him?”

Looking like he might cry again, Merlin gave some kind of shrug. “Because he was Lancelot,” he gave his answer. “He gave his life willingly, over a thousand years ago like he did yesterday. For Camelot. It broke my heart to watch him do it again, Gwen,” he added, like he was defending himself. “He was my friend.”

“Right,” she said, her voice soft in a way that Arthur swore made Leon and Percival cower a little.

Merlin gulped.

“He was a friend to all of us,” Arthur jumped in quickly, awkwardly, because everyone knew he remembered him best not as a friend, or even a knight, but – well.

So he gave a speech, about Lancelot, his bravery and nobility, letting the words come while he could only think of the Cailleach’s words, of being deceived, of Guinevere and her pretty dress; of only wanting to stand up and demand, _‘do you remember me?’_

He raised his glass. “To Lancelot.”

“To Lancelot,” they echoed, raising their own glasses – even Guinevere, one making its way to her hands by the grace of Percival’s forethought.

He sat on the chair closest to her, and Arthur heard him say, “My lady, you should get some rest now.”

“I’ll call your office to explain why you haven’t been to work,” Leon offered helpfully from across her.

She looked over to him, and raised an eyebrow.

“I’ll lie convincingly,” he assured.

“That’d be a novelty,” Percival deadpanned.

Leon looked put off, his mouth twisting.

But Guinevere smiled.

“I’ll trust you with this, Leon,” she said; he looked vindicated. “And I think I will go now,” she added, standing.

Everyone stood with her.

She looked them over. “ _Alone._ ”

“You can’t – ”

“Morgause is still out there – ”

“My lady, just allow me – ”

“Gwen, please – ”

“Guinevere.”

They quieted as Arthur went to her, lowering his voice to say, “It’s dangerous for you to stay alone.”

She didn’t quite meet his eyes. “I need rest and some time to myself, surely you understand?”

“I do.” He nodded. “But you can’t expect me to leave you unprotected.”

She did look up at him now, holding his gaze. Eventually, she gave a slight nod.

“Fine,” she caved with a sigh. “But you can only wake me if Morgause is literally burning the place down,” she added, heading for the door.

Faithfully, they all followed.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

For all of his stealth, the tray still hit the wood too loudly, knocking against a lamp; Arthur flinched.

When he glanced to the bed, Guinevere’s eyes were open. “Is Morgause burning the place down?” she asked softly.

“No,” he said, matching her tone. “I’m sorry I woke you. I just wanted to, uh…” He gestured helplessly to the tray – assorted with, Merlin had assured him, all the finest dinner snacks.

“That’s sweet,” she whispered, hands tucked under her head, faintly smiling at the food. She turned her eyes to him then, and said, “Sit with me?”

He complied, carefully sitting on the edge of the bed. She hoisted herself up, and Arthur almost expected the falling covers to reveal her embroidered white nightdress; but it was just a simple shirt, paired with some loose trousers – which, he had also been told, passed for sleepwear these days.

“Umm…” He cleared his throat. “Here.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out her necklace; she held her hand out, and he let it fall into her palm.

“We found it here in your home,” he said. “Must have been torn off when…Morgause took you.”

Guinevere nodded slowly, turning it over in her hands, a little furrow in her brow.

“And, uh, we have an answer to our question – about that necklace,” he clarified. “Leon and Percival – they said you did wear it before, too. In Camelot.”

Her mouth pulled at the corners. “Yeah.”

God help him, there was only one thing he wanted to ask of her, only one thing consuming his every thought. He wanted to scream it, shout it, demand it –

Then, she said, “Morgana gave it to me.”

He stilled.

“She said that it was for my protection,” Guinevere went on. “That she’d had a dream – one of _her_ dreams.” She raised her eyebrows significantly. “That a day would come where I and Albion would be in danger and that _this_ …would protect me. She made me say I would always keep it with me. I was wary, but…I still wore it.”

His heart beat so fast he swore it would come right out of his chest. _Do you –_

“And now I think,” she was still talking, still looking to the pendant, “that she must have foreseen this. What Morgause would want. And she used her magic to ensure she could not get it out of me. Morgana…” She laughed lightly. “Even when she actually does want to protect me, she goes about it all wrong.”

There wasn’t enough air in his lungs to breathe right, to keep tears from stinging his eyes. “Do you – ” He gulped. “Do you remember?” _Me?_

She lifted her eyes to him again.

Steady and clear, with her lips pulled into a soft smile, she said, “I remembered the moment _this_ fell from my neck.”

The little air he had left him in a rush, and he broke into a grin, his heart soaring. Guinevere grinned, too, as he reached for her, held her as tightly as he could, burying his face in her neck while she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, running her fingers through his hair.

“Wait, why…” He drew back. “Why didn’t you say something before?”

She bit her lip. “I didn’t think the time was right. With everything that was happening, I…I couldn’t find the right moment.”

“No, but I…don’t understand. Your clothes, they – they stayed the same, until…”

“I know,” she said quietly. “I think maybe…maybe, even with my memories, I wasn’t so eager to be queen again.”

He couldn’t quite look at her while he asked, “You prefer this life?”

“Prefer is a strong word, but…”

She trailed off there; when he looked to her again, her mouth was parted slightly, eyes unfocused. They darted to Morgana’s gift, where it lay discarded on the mattress, and suddenly she was scrambling off it, grabbing the pendant as she went.

Arthur started. “Guinevere, what – ”

“Come with me,” was all she said as she went to the door, swinging it open. He had little choice but to follow.

All the men stood when she came into the living room, all opening their mouths to speak, but she went straight for Leon and Percival.

“Morgana gave this to me,” she said without preamble, holding the pendant out for them to see.

Their eyes widened, but evidently, it wasn’t for being surprised that she remembered. “Morgana?” Leon echoed, just as Percival let out, “You never said…”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Guinevere said. “But it was her, and I was drawn to it – ”

“In this life?”

“Yes, and I believe – ”

Leon’s eyes widened. “That’s what took your memories.”

Guinevere nodded.

“Which means,” Leon went on, and Percival concluded, “her magic still holds here.”

“But how can that be?” Leon asked. “She’s of the spirit world. Unless – ”

Now it was Percival’s eyes that widened. “No…”

Arthur looked between the three of them, frustrated to the point of madness. “Unless _what?_ ” he demanded.

The men’s eyes went to him slowly, and then, as one, they heaved deep, long-suffering sighs.

Before he could demand answers again, Guinevere was moving, like a woman on a mission, and slammed the pendant on her desk. Then she turned to him, hand out. “Give me your blade.”

He took a step back. “Maybe later.”

She blinked, then gave him a sweet smile that, frankly, unnerved him to his very core. “Now, please.”

Percival intervened. “My lady, is it really wise – ”

“What are you actually doing?” Elyan asked, sounding half-curious, and half as terrified as Arthur felt.

She replied to neither, eyes still on him. “Your blade, Arthur,” she asked again.

Unsettled, he finally did as she wanted, moving to pick it up and presenting it to her; she pulled it out of the scabbard herself.

She went back to the desk, taking the sword in both hands, and held it high above her head.

It was then that Merlin seemingly realized what she meant to do, moving, yelling, “Gwen, no – ”

But it was too late. She brought the blade down with a cry, shattering the pendant and the desk along with it.

For a second, Arthur had no idea why.

And then, from the broken pieces, billows of smoke rose in the air, dancing together, intertwining, until they formed a shape, a figure –

He stumbled back.

“Morgana.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

“I can’t believe you released her.”

Guinevere said nothing as her eyes cut over to Merlin, and then Gwaine spoke dazedly, as if too shocked to be hateful, “I can’t believe she was _in_ there.”

Arthur’s head was spinning. There stood Morgana – and this, was the _true_ Morgana. With her black dress and unkempt hair, face pale and sharp. Morgana, who had spent a thousand and some years locked in a piece of jewelry that she had made after her death and put around Guinevere’s neck, just so she could – what, exactly?

Guinevere ignored Merlin, ignored Gwaine, and turned to Morgana. “You took my memories.”

As it the entire situation weren’t strange enough, Morgana’s eyes filled with affection when she said, “It was to protect you.”

“Your sister kidnapped me, tried to sacrifice me, and Lancelot is dead – again,” Guinevere returned. “So what exactly did you protect me from?”

Morgana raised her chin. “I did not foresee _that._ ”

“No, but I bet you foresaw _this_ ,” Merlin spat. “This was your plan, wasn’t it, to find a way to return?”

Guinevere finally acknowledged him, to warn, “Merlin…”

“Oh, come on, Gwen,” he let out. “She didn’t do this to protect you, she just wanted a way to come here. It’s probably been her plan to rejoin Morgause all along!”

“Mind yourself, Emrys,” Morgana hissed.

“I do find it hard to believe,” Arthur spoke up, “that you would think leaving Guinevere without her memories was any way to protect her.”

Morgana’s eyes went to him. “My dear brother,” she said, and a chill went down his spine.

Yes, he thought. Definitely the true Morgana.

“What I foresaw,” she went on, “was my sister reaching into Gwen’s memories to get what she wants. And we all know, what means a high priestess has at her disposal to make people talk.”

“Yes, and most of us were taught by you,” Elyan pointed out, while Arthur’s stomach lurched. “Including Gwen.”

At that, he looked to her; her eyes closed, for just a moment, features twisting in pain. A blink later, and they cleared.

“I did not see when, or why, it would happen,” Morgana spoke again, so much like the girl he’d once seen revolt at the entire court for not going after her maid; it was so incongruous, so bizarre, to see that girl in her now, that Arthur thought he must be dreaming.

“So I stayed with you,” she was speaking only to Guinevere now, trying to catch her eye when she avoided it, “to protect you – the entire time! When that wretched girl tried to poison you, I healed you! – ”

_Poison – what wretched girl –_

“When Aithusa returned to Camelot to swear vengeance, I appealed to her – _I_ had her swear allegiance to you instead!”

_Who the hell is Aithusa?_

“When they” – she threw her arm out, to Leon and Percival – “were ill, when they injured, when they were past their time on earth, I made sure your touch, your presence, would give them life, so they would stay with you, so you would not be left alone!”

_What –_

Arthur thought he would never understand anything in the world again, and Leon was muttering, “Oh, that explains so much.”

Guinevere’s jaw was taut, as if she were holding back tears, shaking from the effort.

“And when you were dying,” Morgana finally said, “it was _I_ that bound your spirit to the right-hand power, because you said you never wanted to leave Albion unprotected, so I tied you to it, I made sure that when it needed you, you would come back to it – _I_ made sure your round table would come with you!”

_What’s that now?_

“It’s Arthur’s who rose for Albion,” Merlin spoke. “It’s his round table.”

Morgana whirled on him. “It’s hers, you fool,” she spat, “and _I_ made it so.”

Then, she laughed. “Do you really think that in its time of need, this land would ask not for its queen, but for the man who did not rule over it for even a moment?”

Actually – she made a good point there.

_Wait –_

“ _Its_ queen?” he echoed, looking to Guinevere.

She met his eyes, her own wet. “Did they not tell you?” she asked. “I was the high queen of Albion. All the other kings and queens answered to me.”

Goosebumps broke along his skin.

“By choice?” Merlin asked, and Guinevere’s eyes cut over to him again, narrowing.

She still held his blade aloft, and honestly, Arthur worried about it a little.

“Um, my love…” He slid up to her, a gentle hand on her shoulder and the other curling around hers. “Give that back to me, yeah?”

She blinked up at him, but surrendered it back willingly, smiling the faintest bit. He brought his free hand round, to run his knuckles down her cheek; she closed her eyes, leaning into it.

Leon’s voice brought him back to the room, the tension that now pulsed within it. “How dare you?” he demanded of Merlin.

“I’m just asking…”

“You accuse the queen of tyranny,” Percival said lowly, with the air of a man just itching for his sword.

“I have to wonder,” Merlin spoke slowly, eyes slipping from Guinevere to Morgana, “now that I know who guided her.”

Arthur baulked, too. “You go too far,” he warned.

“Come to me, Emrys,” Morgana goaded, “I’ll show you tyranny.”

He glared. “I’m already familiar, thanks.”

“You know nothing,” Guinevere spoke now. “Not of Albion, not of me. You spent a thousand and a half years looking at a lake, just waiting around for it to do something.”

Everything went still.

From the corner of his eyes, Arthur swore he saw Morgana duck her head, and smile.

“I waited for you, you know.” Guinevere turned to Merlin, stepping forward. “For years, I would look out the window every morning, hoping I would see you come through the gates. As did Gaius.” Her voice wavered, and Merlin’s eyes filled with tears, but she pressed on. “On his deathbed, he asked for you, and I could not find you, not anywhere, to grant him his dying wish. Your mother – ” She swallowed. “Every other year, she would come to Camelot, looking for you…until she died, too.”

“Gwen…”

“I’d often wondered,” she said, “what it was you had forsaken us all for. And now I know…that it was for nothing.” Thickly, quietly, she asked, “In over a thousand years, did you ever think of me at all?”

Tears ran down Merlin’s face. “Of course I did,” he nearly whispered it, like speaking any louder would break him.

Guinevere nodded but offered nothing in return; Arthur looked to the ground. 

“You want to know if I was a tyrant?” Guinevere then asked, taking a deep, shaky breath. “I wasn’t. And _this_ ” – she looked to Morgana now – “isn’t _my_ round table.”

Arthur could have laughed at the way Morgana’s face scrunched. “Well, this is complicated magic,” she defended, “you can’t always ask for things _precisely_ …”

Now he did laugh, loudly, because it was ridiculous – it was all completely, utterly ridiculous, the sort of thing that made a man laugh until he cried, and he still didn’t understand the first thing about it.

Everyone turned to him like he was mad.

“Sorry.” He wiped under his eyes, chuckling. “It’s just that this is…” He tried to find a better word for it, but, frankly, there was none. “Ridiculous.”

He found no sympathy in anyone, except Guinevere; she gave him a small smile.

“The king is right,” she said, still smiling, “because I can think of nothing more ridiculous than binding someone to Albion, then taking away their every memory of it.”

Morgana pursed her lips.

Guinevere raised an eyebrow. “Imprecise magic again?” she queried.

“Something like that.”

Arthur bit down hard on his lip.

“You know what I think is ridiculous?” Gwaine piped up. “The thought of _you_ choosing Gwen over your sister.”

That, too, was a good point.

“About as ridiculous as the thought of Gwen befriending her brother’s murderer,” Elyan said. “But here we all are.”

Guinevere started, looking over to Elyan; Arthur had never seen her look so wounded.

“I’m sure it wasn’t like that,” he appeased, but Elyan paid him no mind, only staring at his sister like she’d committed unspeakable betrayal, and her looking back at him like she would cry, her lip quivering.

“I needed her help,” she said, her voice breaking, and Arthur wanted to tell them all to go, to leave her alone, to stop hurting her like this, except…he wondered, too.

Like a guard dog, Morgana turned on Elyan. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Elyan bristled. “I wasn’t speaking to you, witch.”

“Maybe I’ll make it so you cannot speak at all,” she threatened.

“Alright, enough,” Leon despaired. “All of you. You” – he gestured to Merlin – “stop accusing the queen of things, because she’s right, and you’ve no idea what you’re talking about. And neither do you,” he added for Elyan’s benefit. “And, sire” – he met Arthur’s eyes – “if you think this is ridiculous, you should’ve seen what it was like when it was actually happening.”

See now, he resented that. He hadn’t actually missed it by choice.

Leon huffed a breath, seemingly done.

Or not.

“You want to know what happened, here is what happened,” he embarked on a new tirade. “Lot used the Cup of Life to raise – er, that enemy we spoke of, back to – ”

“You can say my father’s name,” Arthur muttered.

“Oh. Right then. Yes, to bring Uther back to life –  you see, the cup’s purpose can be twisted to raise a dead soul in exchange for a living one –

“Lot used his stable boy,” Percival supplied.

“Evidently, he thought Uther’s claim to the throne would secure him – Lot, I mean – a path to it…not unlike what Morgana had attempted when she enchanted the queen to kill you, Arthur – ”

“Must we keep mentioning that?” Guinevere mumbled.

“Except, Lot overplayed his hand and Uther – well, killed him. Then, he co-opted his army, used the cup again to make them immortal – and I think we all remember what that’s like – so he marched on Camelot, forced us to flee – ”

Morgana deadpanned, “Good old dad.”

“And long story short, the queen went to the Disir, struck their bargain, and for better or for worse, they brought Morgana back, to help – ”

“Temporarily,” she specified.

“Though you’ve certainly found a way around it,” Merlin commented.

“And she did,” Leon concluded. “She helped defeat Uther, helped restore Gwen to the throne. None of us wanted this,” he said, looking around. “But there was no other way. The queen made a difficult choice, but it was the right one, and the years of peace and prosperity that followed are proof of it.”

He’d grown so impassioned, so fervent, that he was out of breath by the end of it.

Guinevere smiled at him fondly. “Thank you, Leon,” she said. “I appreciate that.”

He bowed; Percival put a hand to his mouth to hide his snicker.

After a moment, Arthur commented, “That doesn’t actually explain much.”

Morgana raised an eyebrow at him. “Has your stupidity increased in Avalon?”

Really now – “I just mean, that it doesn’t explain what Morgause wanted in the first place.”

Her expression didn’t change.

Why they all looked at him like he was slow, he had no idea, because honestly – oh. _Oh._ “Oh.”

“After it was done,” Guinevere explained – calmly, patiently, “the cup had to be kept where none could use it again. Clearly, Camelot’s vaults weren’t safe enough, not when Lot had managed to steal it. So I hid it.”

“And I assume,” Arthur said, “only you know where it is.”

She nodded, and he marveled at her brilliance.

“It’s the only thing I can think of Morgause wanting,” she added, “that she could only use me to find.”

Arthur nodded in turn. “And _you_ wanted to stop this?” he asked of Morgana.

“Yes.”

Everything seemed to settle. Until – “I don’t buy it,” Merlin made his opinions known.

Arthur groaned. “Merlin…”

“It’s like Gwaine said.” Merlin met Morgana’s gaze. “I’ll never believe that you would choose Gwen over your sister.”

Eyes cold, Morgana smirked. “I suppose you’ll just have to find a way to trust me, Emrys.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“So…high queen of Albion, huh?”

Guinevere turned, smiling.

She’d sent away everyone – Morgana, with Leon and Percival, who’d turned to her with the air of men sentenced to an eternity in the stocks and whined, _‘my lady’_ – everyone, except Arthur.

He lingered behind, looking at her fondly, mouth ticked at the corner.

“Mm-hmm.”

“Well, I guess that explains that new crown I saw then.”

She nodded. “Leon went on a quest to find me the jewels for it.”

“Was it a grand one?”

“Very,” she said. “The jewels were said to belong to the old kings. One from each of their crowns.”

“Huh. And where did he find them?”

“In a swamp.”

“I see.”

She burst into giggles.

Arthur laughed with her, eyes crinkling at the corners, voice soft as he told her, “I would’ve loved to see it.”

“The swamp?”

He gave her a look. “You,” he said. “Being…the queen you were.”

She pressed her lips together. “You don’t think I was a tyrant, then?”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Merlin’s an idiot,” he dismissed, slowly stepping closer to her. “If they deferred to you, it’s because you earned it,” he said warmly. “I never for a moment believed anything else.” He was right before her now, and raised his fingers to her cheek. “Because I know you.”

“I lived for another forty years after Camlann,” she whispered. “You’ve no idea what I was like then.”

 He stopped, his throat working as he swallowed. “Forty years?” he echoed weakly.

She dipped her head, nodding.

“Oh. That’s uh – it’s…that’s a long time.”

Without ever touching her skin, his hand fell back to his side.

“Um, did you ever, uh – ” He cleared his throat. “I mean, was there ever, uh…”

She couldn’t help but smile. “If that’s your way of asking me if I ever remarried, then the answer is no.”

He tried to hide it, but she caught his little sigh of relief. Still, his voice was sad as he said, “I wouldn’t have wanted you to be lonely.”

“I wasn’t lonely.” She shrugged. “Or alone. And apparently” – she blew out a breath – “I have Morgana to thank for that.”

Arthur gave a little nod, biting his lip. “Do you trust her?” he asked.

“Maybe.” She chuckled. “That’s probably a strange thing to hear from me.”

“Very,” Arthur agreed.

She sighed. “I don’t know, Arthur. She – everything Leon said is true. She helped me, she gave me a way to defeat Uther – and if what she says is true, then she also protected me. But…”

“She’s Morgana.”

“She’s Morgana,” she echoed. With more trouble, swallowing, she added, “And fate is a circle.”

Arthur frowned. “What?”

She looked away from him, tears stinging the back of her eyes. “You asked me, before, if I…preferred this life. And the truth is…I think I do. Not – ” She sucked in a breath. “It’s not that I don’t want the job anymore, because I do.” She nodded emphatically. “It’s just the life that came with it that I don’t want.”

It knocked him back a step, as if she’d hurled stones at him instead of words.

“It wasn’t a bad life,” she added quickly, shaking her head. “But I don’t want to live it again.”

He shook his head, too, frowning. “Why would you live it again? It’s a different time, we’re – ”

“Because fate is a circle,” she repeated.

He sighed. “What does that even mean?”

“It means everything has a way of repeating itself, and I don’t – ”

“Guinevere…”

“Lancelot died yesterday, the same way he did a thousand years ago,” she said, stepping back. “You can’t tell me that means nothing.”

“All it means,” he retorted, going with her, “is that Lancelot was the same now as he was before. Just as I am, just as the knights – just as you are.”

She shook her head slowly. “I am not the same.”

“You are, you are everything – ”

“ _Forty_ years, Arthur.”

“I don’t care,” he said. “Because you are still all that I remember. Wise, and strong, and more beautiful than…” He trailed off there, like he didn’t have the words for it; her breath caught.

He drew an unsteady one himself, running a hand over his face. “So what are you saying?” he prompted. “That you’ll abandon us, run away – what?”

“Well, what would you have me do?” she asked, and it came out as a plea. “Wait for it all to happen again – for Morgana to betray me, for Elyan to die, y-you?” Her voice shook and Arthur’s eyes softened; he reached for her, hands on her arms.

“It won’t be like that,” he said. “We’ll do things differently.”

“Lancelot – ”

“To hell with Lancelot.”

“He was a good man,” she whispered.

Arthur chewed on his tongue, and it struck her now that he had no idea, didn’t know, of things she’d been told centuries ago.

“You know, there’s…no such thing as walking _through_ the veil.”

“So I’ve been told,” he acknowledged quietly.

She nodded, sniffling. “So, um…what you hated him for before, it…it wasn’t his fault. He had no free will in it.”

Arthur said nothing, his jaw clenching, until he let out a sigh. “Forget that,” he said, eyes boring into hers. “Just tell me you won’t leave.”

“Arthur…”

“Don’t say that thing about fate again, it’s – it’s idle superstition. Surely, you’re too wise to believe such things.”

_Idle superstition_. God. It gripped her all at once, just how long he’d been away from her.

“I am wise,” she agreed, and it wasn’t arrogant, or conceited; just the truth. “Which is why I know the words of the Old Religion are never to be taken lightly.”

She took a deep breath. “Did you know it was prophesized you would die at Camlann?” she asked. “At Mordred’s hand?”

He blinked, going still.

“Hmm,” she hummed. “Hundreds of years before it happened. And that your fate was sealed, the moment you refused the Disir.” She blinked back tears. “Don’t tell me it’s idle superstition, because it is anything but.”

He breathed heavily, his shoulders tense; in the end, he hung his head.

“So forgive me,” she went on, choking on it, “if I don’t want to relive _my_ fate twice.”

He was shaking his head again. “It doesn’t have to be like that – no, Guinevere, look at me – ”

He tipped her head up, holding it in place. “We’ll do things another way,” he promised. “We’ll work together, stop Morgause. Then…” Even as she watched, his eyes grew wet, his breathing chopped. “Then we’ll grow old together,” he finally said. “In – in this life, if not in the one before, we’ll be together.”

She gritted her teeth, screwing her eyes shut.

Still, she heard him huff. “Don’t tell me you became a coward in the forty years I missed?”

She looked back at him sharply.

“Because that’s the one thing I won’t believe,” he said. “Above all, you are brave.” He caressed her cheek, catching the tears that spilled over. “I don’t accept you will give up now just because the Old Religion has a saying about fate.”

_It’s not just a saying,_ she wanted to argue, but a terrible thing set loose in chest, violent and angry and starved, but she knew it now, she knew it so well – wanting so badly to have him, so badly to be with him, loving him so much that it broke her heart just to think she would not see him, that missing him had made every bone in her body ache for forty years.

She held his face in her hands to kiss him, the way she’d wanted since Camlann. He returned it, wrapping his arms around her, opening his mouth under hers.

“You died,” she said, drawing back, choking on a sob. “And far away from me.”

He fell into her, dropping his forehead to hers. “I would’ve come back if I could,” he swore. “I would’ve.”

“I know, I know…” `She nodded, kissing him again – his mouth, his cheeks, his brow, his jaw; his fingers when he brought a hand up to her face. She pressed closer to him, tucking her head under his chin, kissing his chest.

“I thought of you,” he spoke into her hair. “When I was dying…my very last thought was of you.”

She sobbed. “And mine of you.”

He ducked his head, brushing his lips against her forehead.

“I’ve missed you.”

“And I you,” he breathed. “Been waiting a thousand years just to see you again.”

“It’s only been like a week to you.”

He smiled. “Same difference.”

He scooped her up then, lifting her in his arms, and she laughed freely – harder still when he grinned, so much like the man she’d known that she almost mistook her tiles for stone and her lamps for the torches that used to light the hallways of their castle.

And a thousand years seemed like no time at all.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“So, tell me something.”

“Hmm?” Guinevere stretched on the bed beside him, tightening the arm she had around his waist.

“What was that bargain you made with the Disir?” he asked, idly playing with the ends of her hair.

Now she lifted her head from his shoulder, propping her chin on his chest. “The same one you refused, actually.”

“Huh. And how’d it turn out?”

She gave a shrug. “Pretty good.”

He sighed, folding an arm under his head and turning his eyes to the ceiling. “That’s what I get for listening to Merlin,” he said. “Dead at thirty, trapped in Avalon for centuries, and missing out on all the good things.”

“You’re thirty-one, Arthur.”

“That’s really not the point.”

She sighed, too, brushing a hand against his jaw to get him to look at her. “What _is_ the point,” she asked, “in dwelling on those things now? Like you said – it’s been a thousand years.”

He huffed a chuckle. “Right, so you don’t dwell on it at all,” he challenged. “You, who made him cry just there.”

Shifting a little, she dropped her eyes to where she’d begun stroking the skin just above his heart. “I admit,” she allowed delicately, “that I did not speak to him as gently as I could have.”

“He abandoned you,” Arthur told her. “You’ve every right to be angry.”

“I’m not angry,” she said quietly.

“Fine, to resent him, then.”

She shook her head. “I don’t resent him.”

“Then what?”

She met his eyes again, shrugging. “I just missed him then, is all.”

Arthur nodded, pulling her closer. She scooted up to him, so that she was entirely pressed to his side, one leg hooked over his.

“Well, before telling him that, you should let him think you hate him for a while,” he suggested. “It’ll do him good.”

She hummed, snuggling against him. Tracing circles along his stomach, she asked, “You weren’t just talking back there, were you?”

“About what?”

“Leading a different life this time.” She sighed. “You believe it?”

There was urgency to her voice, and an undertone of fear that he hated to hear in it, so he held her tighter, pressing a sound kiss to her lips.

“I believe it,” he said. “You know, you think…that we’re caught in some sort of circle of fate, but I think – ” He turned on his side to face her, chest to chest. “All it means is that we’ve been given a second chance.”

“At what?”

He pursed his lips. “Our eternal love,” he said flatly.

She stifled a snort – then frowned. “What if it is?” she whispered.

_Wait – what?_

“I mean – ” She licked her lips. “What if it is our fate to live and die, and live again, whenever Albion’s in need, and then return – me to the spirit world and you to Avalon – again, and again, and again – ”

“There you go thinking about circles again,” he interrupted gently.

She huffed.

Now, _he_ frowned. “I never knew you to be so…” It took a moment to find words that wouldn’t offend her. “Uncertain about things.”

Frankly, it had usually been his job. And she had stood as an immovable beacon of certainty and faith.

“How do you think I got to unite Albion and keep it at peace for decades?” she prompted.

“By…being wise and bold and brave and brilliant?” he ventured. “No?”

“By thinking _ahead,_ ” she said. “And planning for it.”

“I rather think you’re thinking _too_ far ahead now,” he countered.

She blew out a breath, a furrow in her brow. He endeavored to smooth it over with his lips, pressing a kiss to it, then the bridge of her nose, then the tip of it, until she smiled.

“I’ve barely just returned, maybe don’t start thinking of my demise just yet,” he joked, and effectively ruined all of his good work.

“You almost died yesterday.”

He gulped. “So did you.”

Even now, when she was safe with him, her heart beating strongly against his, it made a chill go through him.

“Alright, the truth is,” he admitted quietly, “no one knows what the future will bring. But I _do_ believe,” he stressed, “that it’s not doomed to end in tragedy no matter what.” He gave her a small smile. “I could use for you to have some faith in it, too.”

Slowly, she smiled back, cupping his cheek. In the end, like surrendering a battle, she nodded.

Arthur kissed her for it, holding her closer still, letting his hand go over her body, marveling at the fact that he finally had his wife beside him again – until something occurred to him.

He drew back. “Guinevere…”

“Yes, Arthur?”

“Are we married?”

She blinked. “Yes,” she said, exceedingly slow. “Remember? We did the rite of handfasting…Geoffrey said some things…Merlin cried…then Elyan cried…”

“No, I mean – ” He propped himself up on his elbow. “In this time.”

She opened her mouth as if to answer, and then her eyes went wide. “Oh…”

“Are we?”

“Um, well – uh – ” Her eyebrows drew together, and she bit her lip. “I don’t – I don’t think so?”

“Right, ‘cause – it said until death does us part, and well – death did…”

“Right…”

“But it also said ‘for eternity’ so – if we are, essentially, the same people we were then – ”

“Well, we are in, uh – _spirit_ ,” Guinevere said. “But you don’t _technically_ exist in this time, and I am not Guinevere Pendragon – I’m not even _a_ Guinevere – so I mean, _legally_ , I am still very much a single woman…”

“Right.”

“Right.”

“So…?”

“So…”

“Well, are we?”

“…no?”

He pursed his lips, looking between their naked bodies a little uneasily.

Guinevere laughed loudly. “You can’t be serious!”

“What?” he defended. “I am a knight of Camelot, I am honor-bound to – ”

“You know, even in Camelot, you were pretty much the only one who abided by that?”

“That’s not the point! I can’t be – sharing nights in bed with women who are not my wives!”

He frowned. “That didn’t come out quite right.”

Laughing again, she put an arm around him. “Well,” she began, mirth dancing in her eyes, “I forget all the old traditions, but I seem to remember that it’d be alright” – she pecked his lips – “if we were betrothed.”

His lips curved under hers. “You are infinitely wise.”

She giggled.

“Well, then,” he concluded, “there is only one thing left for me to do.”

Her mouth pulled into a smile, slow and beautiful, affection in her eyes, and he thought that, no matter what time, no matter what century, _she_ would always be perfect.

He looked down to her warmly, clasping her hand in his, and asked, “Will you marry me?”

She grinned now, lighting up the room.

“With all my heart.”

 


End file.
